


walk with a broken toe into the sunlight, and maybe the crows will mourn you.

by alright_alright



Category: South Park
Genre: ;), ? - Freeform, Aged-Up Character(s), Art School, Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness, Baking, Banter, Best Friends, Bickering, But he's trying, Camcorder, College, Crows, Dialogue Heavy, Drabble, Emotionally Repressed, Filming, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Homework, I Don't Even Know, I don't really know - Freeform, Idiots in Love, Insecure Craig, Insecurity, Late Night Conversations, Love Confessions, Merry Christmas, Mutual Pining, Nostalgia, Oblivious, Pining, References to Monty Python, Ridiculous, Sappy, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, So so so much, Sort of Confessions, Swearing, and a hint of, but hey, clueless craig, craig's also very much into tweek, craig's got braces, film projects, he's just bad at expressing it, hope you got dental insurance 'cause you're probs gonna get a cavity, i think, i'm really sorry for all the pine trees you'll meet, if at all tbh, if you can find it, is it sweet??, it's really just the one, it's too sweet guys, lemme know, minimal plot, palmcorder, roller skating, talking about death, that never ended, there's so much bickering omg, tweek can't roller skate, tweek is roller skating, tweek's pretty sassy, tweek's super into craig, who am I kidding, wouldn't be my fic without all the
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alright_alright/pseuds/alright_alright
Summary: Tweek is trying desperately not to fall in a pair of ill-functioning roller skates. Craig is too emotionally dependent on his camcorder.





	1. i.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy all i'm back. :P i know this is dif from my other stuff, so if you didn't like it, or if you did, or if there's anything you have to make a comment about, please let me know! i love comments, and i've got a steel ear, so you won't hurt my feelings, promise.
> 
> thanks so much for reading!!   
> <3 
> 
> p.s.  
> i'm working on a number of other fics that are longer so any prompt suggestions will really help me out. even if it's just a word, or you wanna see craig in a windbreaker speaking spanish to some ducks, or if you wanna see clyde struggle with being a straight drag queen (summer has really killed me cuz i've written that one out lol)

Tweek broke his first pair of roller skates under a hammer. 

They were red, a bright rocket red, and they went out painfully. Tweek dropped the hammer, broke a toe, and got out of his middle school Valentine's dance. Tweek even managed to get a sympathy glance from Craig, the best there is in a friend. 

Middle school's way over, _thank fuck_ , but glances from Craig are like pulling teeth.  

Tweek's second pair of roller skates broke his fall against the grill of Clyde’s rust bucket Suburban on an ocean sky day. He crashed like waves, seafoam pus, seashell green bruises. Bottomed up, belly on the asphalt shore of Clyde’s driveway, and Clyde couldn’t stop apologizing. Tweek plastered the half-beat pair of skates with bright bandaids that said _ouch!_ and _pow!,_ and Craig just narrowed his eyes at the sight, all judgmental behind that camcorder. 

Craig's  _always_  behind that camcorder.

Like today, in the air's fresh light and rain must, that hunk of plastic is the only thing standing between Craig and Tweek. That fucking camera's keeping Tweek from looking into the  _brightest_ jade eyes, and damn, it's just _unfair_.

There's a calling caw in the clouded sky above. Tweek catches some branches waving around when a crow leaves, like a flagger on the highway. Tweek _really_ didn't want to put these skates again, especially since half the plastic buckles are broken from Clyde's tire, and they wobble a lot more than Tweek finds comforting.

Plus, the sun's going down soon, and a chill's rising on the autumn air. Not that he really  _minds_ that, but still. Craig could've been a little more considerate in his request and, well, not drag Tweek out onto this dirt road in the middle of nowhere. 

Tweek guesses, in some vague sense, he kind of deserves this lovely dish of irony from all the nights he's kept Craig away from his dreams, but still. 

The fields are open wide around them, and Tweek's trying desperately not to fall on his ass in these skates. But Craig would probably _love_ that, if Tweek just fell down, and Tweek knows he'd hit record instead of helping. Tweek thinks he’s doing okay, but only because he's not moving. He’d rather listen to everything else sway, seesaw in the wind around them.

Craig won’t let that happen, though.

That metal-mouthed bastard won’t let Tweek have any bit of peace today. He's trying to record Tweek’s death, probably. That'd be an edgy art project, a dead Tweek. The sky’s even ready to wallow in grief. Tweek feels a few drops on his forehead. He sighs dramatically. 

“Try again.” Craig deadpans, and there the bastard is, being classic Craig, a total dick. 

“No way, dude. I’m g-gonna fall! For the fifth time! I, I,” Tweek grips at his hair, tipsy in his roller skates. “Oh, shit,” Tweek swears as he tries to regain his balance. Craig cracks a small smile. Tweek sends a nasty glare his best friend’s way while he stills himself. “Fuck you.” Tweek groans, legs spaced out too much. Craig laughs a small, delightful sound, but Tweek’s too pissed to find it cute.

"Right here, dude." Craig holds a middle finger up to Tweek, and he's still stuck on laughing. Damn, Tweek's never too pissed to find Craig’s laugh something adorable like puppies in flowers, or butterflies surrounding puppies, or anything that has to do with puppies. But puppies also piss literally everywhere, and they can’t hold their shit in, and they bark, and as cute as they are, they’re also damn annoying doing what they want with no regard for anyone else involved. So that metal-mouthed, puppy laughing asshole can rot, for all Tweek cares. Craig can go take that camcorder, and shove it where the sun won’t dare to go.

“I’m gonna _fall,_ man.” Tweek complains. 

“Those are the best shots.” Craig mutters.

“Oh, the ones where I’m in pain? Nice, asshole, _nice_. Jesus,” Tweek groans. “I didn’t _have_ to help you. You could’ve gotten Token.”

“Token doesn’t take criticism well.”

“And that’s it? That’s your only qualificatory? Thanks, I feel so,” Tweek near trips, and he lets out a little yelp, but he spaces his arms enough, and it’s okay. Ah, nope, wait, it's not cool. Things are no longer cool. “Stupid, Craig! I feel stupid.” Tweek squeaks. 

“You don’t look stupid,” Craig assures, though Tweek’s having a hard time believing that. “Just, please?” Craig says, in a rare pleading tone, and how can Tweek resist?

Seriously, someone explain how Tweek could resist, he needs to resist. This is such a dangerous way to be. Love’s dumb and dangerous. Craig’s definitely gonna be the cause of his death some day. 

Maybe today, maybe he’s been using this whole _best friends_ thing as a front for years, and he just wants to kill Tweek, but make it _look_ like an accident, and Tweek’ll just be a pancake on a dirt road, fried and waiting for the sun to peel him up and

No, just,  _whatever_ , or something else entirely useless like that. Tweek takes a breath, before that slips out from under him, too. 

“I can juggle." Tweek lets out on the wind. 

"Good for you."

"Why couldn't I just juggle? Why isn't that enough?”

“Because I,” Craig frowns at the camera, not looking directly at Tweek. “I need movement. That’s what Falbrooke said. _Movement_.”

“Juggling’s all about movement!”

“Not in the way Falbrooke means.” 

“ _Ngh_ , what does Falbrooke _ever_ mean?” Tweek grumbles.

“Kenny got a great crit.” Craig says, half-pout with only a little bit of envy.

“Didn’t he show a porno?”

“It was artful nudity,” Craig states with disdain, fumbling with the campy effects the camcorder has. Ultimately, he just messes with the white balance until everything tints a little blue, till the edges run purple hued and grainy like a home video. Tweek smells rain on the way, but it's still just a few sprinkles here and there. “There was a mood. I don’t know.”

“What was the mood?”  

“It was,” Craig sighs. “It’s hard to describe,” Tweek just stares, used to waiting because _everything_ is apparently hard to describe for Craig. “It was bright. Poppy.”

“Like, poppy opiates or poppy bubblegum?” 

“That,” Craig comes close to smiling, and Tweek thinks these skates are almost worth it to see the metal-mouth grin. “Bubblegum and opiates. Both.” 

“Sounds like a junkie’s daydream.” Tweek whispers.

“A what?”

“A junkie’s daydream,” Tweek defends. “It’s a junkie’s daydream.”

“You weirdo,” Craig mumbles, smile a trace on his face. “Ken played Sonic Youth backwards. It was fine, or whatever,” Craig groans a frustrated noise sounding like a bad muffler. “It’s all aesthetics, man. It’s just a popularity contest.” Craig shrugs. Tweek squints.

“Well, fuck.”

"No, they didn't _really_ fuck. I mean, I wouldn't call i----"

"No, n-no! Not  _that_. It's just, just----"

“What?” 

“How does roller skating c-compete with a porno? A porno with Sonic Youth, man, h-how does this,” Tweek gestures wildly, near falling on his face. Craig stifles his laugh. “Compete?”

“You wanna do a porno?” Craig asks pointedly. Tweek turns various shades of red, scoffing to himself. 

“No, no, no! I mean, _sheesh_. J-jesus, man!”

“Okay, then just roller skate,” Tweek looks ready to rip out his hair, so Craig taps at the back of his own neck to remind Tweek not to rip out all that platinum gold before Craig gets to film it. “Four breaths, yeah?”

“F-fuck you and your four breaths. Fuck you, man.” Tweek growls out lowly, but he still puts his hands behind his neck, begrudgingly. 

“Wanna say that again?” Craig asks, pointing to his camera. Tweek scrunches up his face.

“Why?”

“Aesthetics.”

“That's kinda abusive, spaceboy.” 

“Yep,” Craig agrees, looking at Tweek through the camera. “Makes me feel right at home.”

“I have a finger f-for, for what you just said.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you shove it?”

“Whoa, hey, hey, _hey!_  I am helping you!” Craig looks at Tweek from around his camera. He gives a lazy-eyed, half glare. 

“You think you’re being helpful?” 

“Kind of?” 

“That’s real cute,” Craig slips, fonder than he means to show, and _shit_ , why couldn't he just keep his dumb thoughts to himself. “So, uh, could you, um,” Craig stammers out, back behind the camera. “I know you got two left feet, but could you let one of them take the lead?”

“Wait, wait,” Tweek stills the wind, breeze calming him over, and Craig is hitting record before he even realizes it. He’s surprised his hand’s so steady. Tweek’s sandy eyelashes are fluttering shut, and the sky’s stormy behind him. “Hey,” Tweek has a golden, toothy little grin on his face. “You got a flashlight?” Tweek asks, opening his eyes. 

“No.” 

“Dude, why not?” 

“Maybe I do. Skate over to me.” 

“I can’t move. I’m w-waiting for Athena.” 

“Athena likes those that help themselves.” Craig says, in an annoying tone.

“How ‘bout if you helped yourself instead of, instead of me helping you out?”

"That was long-winded. Get on your toes, sheesh." Tweek rolls his eyes. 

" _Ngh_ , you know, know what I mean!"

"Can you get a move on it? Come on, I'm just asking you move like, ten feet, _tops_.”

“Hey, I’m trying!”

“Eh, I know you. You could try harder.”

“I said I’m trying,” Tweek growls, skates stiff. “ _Shit_ , you sh-should be nicer to me.” 

“Sorry,” Craig says, meaning it. Craig pauses. “Why do you need a flashlight, anyway?”

“I wanted a boost,” Tweek says, shrugging, and sticking his tongue out. “You know?”

“Shit no. You can’t have batteries.”

“Just a zinger. D-don’t make it _weird_.”

“I’m not making it weird. It _is_ weird.”

“You’re labeling it weird, so you’re _making_ it w-weird,” Tweek argues. “Volts give jolts. Pop those outta your camera th-there, dude.”

“Tweek. You can’t lick my batteries,” Craig states, red spreading over his face in blossoms. Tweek snickers. Craig doesn’t think it’s that funny. “I, I mean, that you,” Craig stares at the ground. He shuffles his feet. “You can’t have these.” Craig mumbles, waving his camera around in a surprising bit of motion.

“Bet that’d be a good thing to film, huh?” Tweek asks, with this half-assed wink, and Craig stiffens his neck, and the camera nearly slips. He scrambles to grab it. “Considering, you know, how Kenny’s,” Tweek frowns, watching Craig fumble to a still position where he's stuck staring at a pile of dirt. “Awh, _Christ_ , sh-shit, man. Delete that, y-yeah?” Tweek stammers, embarrassed, puts his head in his hands, and wishes for the sixth time that he was not wearing roller skates as the wind wobbles him. Craig doesn’t say anything for a while. He just sort of...waits, looking like a statue.  

Craig’s cleared his throat seven times, though. Not like Tweek’s been keeping track, or anything silly like that. 

“Let’s, uh, let’s focus,” Craig blurts after a good minute stuck staring at Tweek. Craig’s startled to quicken the camera, and ease his gaze only on the plastic thing. “Can you skate?”

“I thought we covered the fact that I _can’t_ skate, asshole!”

“Tweek,” Craig sighs. “One breath. One foot forward. Go.” 

“Don’t t-tell me what to do.”

“Fine, then. Just stand there and do nothing.”

“I said,” Tweek scowls, skate skipping over the other. “Don’t tell me what to do!” 

“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just observing. You said you’d help.”

“I know what I said. Christ. I know, I’m a d-dick to myself.” Craig laughs softly. Tweek doesn’t find it amusing, no matter how much his ears are screaming to him that the sound is so worth it.

“You so owe me. Four years of getting up at three in the morning to string Christmas lights over town with you. You owe me.” 

“You make it sound like it was four straight years, every morning at three.”

“Dude,” Craig glares, with an _are you shitting me right now_ face, and Tweek tries not to shrink under it. “Hauling my ass _any_ morning, even just _one fucking time_ at three is worth this, right here. It’s a goddamn feat.”

“Why’d you have to p-pick _me_?” Tweek complains. Craig doesn’t say anything. He’s fiddling with that fucking camera again, and Tweek frowns. “Craig. Craig. _Craig,_ ” At this point, Tweek’s aware in some vague sense he’s being immature, but he can’t for the life of him find two goddamns to give. “Hey, h-hey, spaceboy. Why me?”

“‘Cause you light well,” Craig says, after a quiet second. “And your eyes match the sky,” Tweek blinks. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not gay. It’s art.” Tweek furrows his brows at _that_ statement, because, well, what the serious fuck?

“ _What?_ ” Craig doesn’t glance at Tweek, which in all fairness, really shouldn't be as surprising as it is. Tweek tries to skate over to him to gain his attention back. 

But the winding dirt road trips, and he’s kicked up with his skates in washboards. Tweek flounders for a few seconds, a few awful seconds before he just gives in, because, well, this is it. 

 _Pancake, time to fry on the griddle,_ Tweek thinks sourly as his ass hits the dirt with a _thud_. Tweek shuts his eyes at the impact. The sky was pretty, though, last time Tweek checked, and he thinks about opening his eyes now. But his vision is sheltered, only blobs under his eyelids, and this is a fine place to be for now. Craig's got a funny pattern of walking, Tweek muses, as Craig's shadow looms shadow over him, and then Craig’s weirdly cautious hands are touching his shoulder. Tweek feels himself smiling.

Everything will be sunshine and lollipops, Tweek muses somewhat dizzily, and the crow caws.


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! so i barely edited this and i'm sure there a loads of mistakes but yeah! i love to hear your thoughts, even if you didn't like something. i swear i won't bite, and you won't hurt my feelings. i changed it a bit, so there'll be one more chapter to this! thanks for reading!!

“You okay?”

“D-do you ever think about birds?” Tweek asks, eyes shut. “Is it the same birds that migrate up in the warm weather? How come they won't stay there all year? Do they have family down south, like, like a vacation _nest_?" Craig rolls his eyes at that one, and sighs. "How many funerals do you think they have to have?”

“What kind of a question is that, Tweek?”

"A half-asleep one." Tweek defends.

"You'd have to know how many birds there are to answer that, and then every bird that died, and --- do you even know how many _people_ have funerals?"

"In the U.S.? It's about 2.4 million a-annually."

"How do you," Craig shakes his head. "Nevermind." Tweek scoffs.

"It's a twenty billion dollar industry, per year! Bet y-your ass I pay attention to that."

"You're so very strange, buddy."

"How about crows? What about their funerals? _You_ gotta know."

"If a crow dies," Craig begins, sighing, kind of hating himself for proving Tweek right. "Other crows gather around the dead one, and they caw a lot. No one's sure if it's really mourning, or if it's just them trying to figure out what happened. But they do meet up. I doubt you'll see a crow digging a grave, though."

“I knew," Tweek's awed through a smile. "I knew you'd have some kind of answer. Don't people mourn the same way? Think about it, man, if someone just _dies_ on the street, the cops gather around, too, don't they? And then people look on. It's like a crowd. Do you think that's what crows are doing? Do you think they have mutes, too?”

"Mutes?"

"Yeah, you know. Like, like professional mourners. Mutes and professional mourners. Open a history book, Craig."

"Tweek," Craig huffs a small laugh. "You don't have to personify everything. Other creatures are weird. They could be having a ceremony, and they could also just be walking around like it's Tuesday."

"I'm not personifying shit."

"Hope not. Wouldn't that be nasty?" Tweek scrunches up his face at that question, and stares at the sky.

"I think birds do mourn. Why else would a crowd of them be called a _murder_ of crows? Naw, Craig, they're mourners."

“Tweek," Craig frowns. "Would it kill you to be helpful?”

“I wish,” Tweek grumbles. Craig sighs. “Would you mourn me, Craig?” Craig hits record on his camera. “How much of my shit will you keep around after I die?”

"What do you care? You'll be dead. In the afterlife. Reincarnated as a snapping turtle. _Ooh_ , spooky. Life's mysterious and wondrous." Craig deadpans.

"Painted turtle. I'll be a p-painted turtle," Tweek frowns. "But that's besides the point! Where will my shit go?"

"Should be the sewer, if you're doing it right."

"Craig! I'm fucking serious!" Craig sighs dramatically. Tweek thinks, with the spite he's feeling right now, that's pretty damn brave of Craig to put on that sort of display of annoyance.

“Okay, Tweek," Craig begins, like he's talking to a five year old. "You pulled half of your shit from a dumpster, and a quarter of it is my shit. You have maybe one to three valuable things.”

“So,” Tweek hums thoughtfully. He finally opens his eyes, and sucks in his breath at the intake of light. “ _Shit_ , that's bright.”

“It's five thirty," Tweek makes a faint noise, kinda like a whine, and kind of pitiful, at that new information. "This is what happens when motion stops.” Craig states, in his ever-monotone narration voice. Tweek squints up at the camera. He lifts his head, and groans.

“Dick.” Tweek drawls out, like a drunken man in a poorly shot Western flick from the '70s.

“Careful, kids, this could happen to you.”

“Is this a PSA?”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“Against what? Freeing up your Saturda---”

“You didn’t have anything to do. You’d just be watching _Monty Python_ again. I mean, it’s funn---”

“End it there. No but! It’s funny, th-that’s the, _ngh_ , end.”

“But you’ve seen it so many times.”

“I s-said no buts!”

“Okay.”

“ _Argh_ , so I _like_ rituals! What's the big deal? You do, too!” Craig shakes his head, and this appears to be the most response Tweek will achieve from Craig tonight on this subject. Craig turns back to fiddle with his camera. Tweek hopes the buttons break off soon.

Then he kind of regrets hoping that, because Craig really does love that thing, and if Tweek jinxed it, that'd be a shitty thing for a best friend to do.

“And so, kiddos, walk the streets carefully tonight. Keep an eye or two out,” Craig zooms in, far to close for comfort, on Tweek’s left eye, because he’s a giant dickhead. “Gravity’s a vengeful beast, and she trips the nearsighted.”

“If I could hit you w-without, without the karma, I totally would, man.” Tweek says with a scowl.

“But you can’t,” Craig teases. “Cause your religion’s a chicken.” Craig says, clucking little noises that sound like _bach bach bach_ to Tweek. Tweek narrows his eyes.

“Yeah, and y-yours makes _so_ much more sense.” Craig shrugs.

“There's no karma on my end. I’d totally punch you.”

“Please! Your karma comes in all that guilt. You're a guilty bastard, Craig. You’d be, be, uh," Tweek fumbles with the words, which is not a new experience for him, but it's still frustrating for him. "What is it you guys say? Lasts forever, and it sucks."

“Bound to eternal damnation?” Craig suggests.

“What if I _died_ , Craig?” Tweek states, dramatically. “What if you punched me, and, a-and my brains exploded, and I was _dead_ all ‘cause of you? Kenny would get so much snot on you. He really loves me!” Craig scoffs. "Oh, _what?_ "

“Kenny loves sidewalks, and even that old guy that throws bologna at pigeons in the park. He’s not exactly an exclusive love club.”

“Crotchety Garrison still does that? Really?” Craig nods. Tweek makes a horrified face. He shakes his head. “That’s disgusting.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But what if I _died?_ ” Tweek draws out, again. “Then there’d be no more this, man, n-no more saving your ass on overdue assignmen---”

“It’s not overdue ‘till the 17th," Craig interrupts. “And you’re not going to die. You’re fine. Evil doesn’t die.” Tweek gasps.

“Watch it, asshole.” Tweek warns.

"Yeah? What're you gonna do about it, Buddha? Spin your wheel, and wait 'til _I_  croak to come back as a mosquito? I'm so terrified." Craig deadpans. Tweek scowls slightly at that. Just 'cause he meditates sometimes doesn't mean he's a complete wimp.

Besides, the dharma will come, and the karma should go. Tweek just has to work on trusting the universe, but it's very difficult to do when you can't even trust your own government. 

“Hey,” Tweek muses, a delayed hurt all over his face. Craig looks mildly amused. “Why would you hit me, anyway? We’ve been best friends for almost fifteen years. I'm _helping_ you.”

“Actually, Clyde was my best friend until fifth grade. So, it's really just the twelve years.”

“Oh, _Clyde_ was your best friend,” Tweek snorts. “Clyde who ate the wrapping paper that pop-tarts come in? _That_ Clyde?”

“Yeah, Donovan," Craig says, leaning over to Tweek's feet. He sets the camcorder down gently on the road. Tweek really wants to grab that camera right now, and film Craig's concentration face. If he did, Tweek knows he'd have to be fast and that's not really an option as long as he stays down on the washboards. Craig begins snapping off the buckles of Tweek's rocket red roller blades, even the broken one. He's so damn careful and methodical about it that Tweek finds himself a little entranced. "Clyde Donovan.” Craig confirms, belatedly.

“You’re so full of shit.” Tweek mumbles.

“I am not.” Craig says, taking off a blade. Tweek wiggles his toes, and they finally feel free. He exhales relief.

"Craig," Tweek closes his mouth fast to a tight lipped look. "The _shrubbery_. I gave up the shrubbery for this. I _am_ the best friend."

“Yeah, I know,” Craig says, putting the other blade down. “Thanks.” Craig adds, hesitantly. Tweek flicks up a fast toothy smile.

“Sure, spaceboy. H-hey, my toes can finally see you,” Craig offers a hand, although it comes with questioning look, and Tweek doesn't take him up it. Sometimes, in these tiny moments, Tweek's pretty sure Craig might feel something close to what Tweek does for him. But Craig's a little cowardly when it comes to facing feelings, and Tweek's never really sure what's real anyway. Tweek bets Craig's hands are really deliberate, though, and that's a comforting enough thought. Tweek sits up his elbows, and he feels gravity say howdy with the blood that rushes to his brain. Craig picks the camera back up again, and cradles it like it's a wounded bird. A plastic, _ancient_ wounded bird that runs on volts. "You're gonna get an F on this project, aren't you?" Craig makes a face. 

"It's pass fail, but your faith in me is something to look forward to everyday."

"Why couldn't you film yourself?" Tweek waits a long while for a response. The wind whistles on, and the rain mists by quietly. A few crows caw their broken lullabies, by and by the falling sun. Tweek breathes in the must, and he waits, because everything is hard for Craig to describe.

“I'm not camera-ready." Craig finally admits, sounding somewhat small, and Tweek thinks that's just ridiculous. And _laughable_ 'cause Craig could look in the mirror, and Tweek wouldn't have fallen in the rain, in the middle of crow-land wearing these damn roller skates.

"Camera-ready, _pft_. Y-you think _I_ am?" Tweek scoffs indignantly.

"Why else would I film you?" Craig looks at him with these full-blown wide electric jade eyes. It's been so long, it's been such a long time since Craig stared directly into Tweek's eyes like this, and all Tweek can think is _don't keep looking like that, don't be like that, 'cause the alphabet's supposed to be important, and I'm already forgetting_ q _._

Then again, if Craig stares like _this_ , the alphabet does become sort of trivial. Jesus, it's like he's got the secrets of the universe in irises. 

"Why _wouldn't_ you film you? Come on, man, you, y-you're you."

"Exactly," Craig looks away, back to the dirt, and Tweek thinks, _god dammit._  "No one wants to see my face that big, Tweek.”

“Oh," Tweek blurts. Tweek frowns. How can Craig not see how fascinating he is? Craig's the calm one, Craig's the hypnotizing one with the wild eyes, and the dream-running hands. Nah, Tweek can't be right. Craig's not like that. Craig's not this nervous. This is just a fluke. No way Craig's _this_ self-concious --- why would he be self-concious at all? Naw, it's a fluke. "Yeah.”

“Thanks.” Craig grumbles.

“Jeez, oh man,” Tweek mumbles out on one breath, putting his hands on the back of his neck, criss-crosses them. "I didn't, I didn't mean that!" Tweek shouts, and a couple crows fly above them, cawing off the branches. They alarmed at the outburst, but Craig just winces a little.

“Jesus, dude." 

“Any face on a big screen is terrifying!" _Good cover, Tweek_. "I didn’t,” Tweek frowns, panicking. “I didn’t mean to, to s-say you’ve got a scary face. You don’t! It's really, a really great face!” _So killer. Smooth. Tweek, you really nailed this one._ "A really nice one!"

“If you backpedal anymore, you're going to run out of breath."

"No, not done yet. Your face is great, Craig, it's like, l-like," Tweek frowns. "Okay, s-so you know those candies on the rings?"

"...ring pops?" Craig asks, arriving just on time with his  _are you shitting me_ face. Tweek most definitely is not shitting Craig, and for some reason, this feels like one of the most important things he'll say for a while. He's gotta be as specific as possible. 

"Yeah! You know the strawberry one?"

"I guess?"

"Remember when we w-were little, and our parents wouldn't ever get us that kinda candy? Except on _special_ days, but the strawberry was _everything_ , man," Tweek says, softly. "It was  _so_ sickenly s-sweet, and we'd wait forever for it. 'Member that? It tasted like August." Craig nods, even though he doesn't really remember that. But he knows what it's like to wait for something special, because he's done it walking to school the last ten years with the always-late Tweek. "Your face, it g-gives me the same feeling. It's _relief_ , you know? It's a r-relief to, to see you." Tweek gulps. He hopes that says enough without saying jackshit. 

"Uh," Craig stammers brilliantly. "Thanks. That's," He mutters, somewhat unsure what to do with this knowledge. "Thanks."

"S-sure, I'm just, I'm just telling the truth. Don't get weird on me. It's a, um, it's rad. Your face, I mean." Tweek adds. Craig sets his camera down in the grass, all gingerly and too fucking sweet for Tweek. Craig watches the sky fold in more clouds, and Tweek makes a beeline for the Panasonic camcorder. 

"Hey!" Craig yelps, and it's kind of hilarious. Tweek turns the thing on, and hits record. Craig swipes at it a couple times, like he's a large bear, and the camera's an trespasser on his land that he's lazily dealing with. Tweek avoids Craig, until Craig just takes to hiding his face.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Believe _what?_ " Craig groans, exasperatedly. "Turn it off."

"Nuh uh, nope. Not until you look at me and say," Tweek clears his throat, and tries his best to go monotone. " _I believe you, Tweek, and I love myself._ Say that, and I'll sh-shut it down." Tweek says, laughing from behind the camera.

"What the fuck, Tweek."

" _Mnn_ , I don't think that's what I s-said, man. Try again."

"Fuck off. I'm not saying that."

"Oh, come _on!_  Please? Say it?"

"No."

"But,  _Craig_ , if you don't love y-yourself, how in the h---"

"Don't you dare quote RuPaul. That's a low blow."

"I j-just wanna see your pretty face," Tweek pleads, laughing silently. " _Please_ look at the camera?"

"This isn't funny." Craig growls, muffled in his coat.

"Of course it isn't. It's art, Craig. It's all very serious."

"This is torture."

"You overdramatic crybaby," Tweek says, rolling his eyes. "Come on, _I_ did it. I always get in front of your, of your camera!"

"Well, yeah, that's 'cause you're," Craig sighs. "You. And you're the only people like you. You're too interesting not to preserve." Tweek furrows his brows.

"H-hey, Craig?" Tweek asks, cautiously. "How many trips to the moon have there been?" Craig turns his head a little, to look at the direction Tweek's in, and he appears to be thinking. His head's still tucked over his knees, and Tweek thinks he looks really beautiful right now. Tweek zooms in on the camera.

"Apollo 17 was the last one in '72, so that makes six successes, but ther--- _wait_. I see what you're doing. Fuck no." Craig states, pointedly, stuffing his face back into his arms.

"Awh, come _on_ , Craig!"

"Nope." Craig pops the _p,_ and Tweek has to focus real hard not to swoon.

"If you aren't gonna say it," Tweek sighs. " _I'll_ say it. Here, watch, man," Tweek flips the camera around on himself, and he has to hold it at a funky angle that's way too uncomfortable, 'cause the thing weighs too much. He shuffles with it for a second, and huffs. "It's on me, okay? You can look now. It's not gonna bite you."

"You make me sound like a scared two year old." Craig doesn't look. Tweek scowls.

"Oh, you _aren't_?" Craig grunts in response to _that_ , and Tweek looks as seriously as he can into the camera. He criss-crosses his legs, even applesauces, and puts the palmcorder in his lap. He aims it up at his face. "H-here, look. I believe in me, and I," Tweek grins a toothy thing. "I l-love," Tweek ponders his next move. _Ya_ or _you_ , _ya_ or _you_. Rejection fucking sucks. Tweek's not into dealing with that tonight, but Craig's already feeling pretty sour right now, so Tweek guesses he wouldn't really notice the difference. _Ya_ says _I'll be there, buddy ol' pa_ l, and _you_ says _hey, remember 3rd grade, I like-like you, so let's meet out by the slides an_ \--- nah, no way, Tweek can't say that tonight. "Ya, Craig. It's not hard for me to say."

 _You chicken_ , the crow above Tweek seems to holler, and Tweek has to bite back a self-depricating, _at least chickens_ try _to fly_.

"This is ridiculous."

" _You're_ ridiculous! You can't stay in the fetal position the rest of your life!"

"Fine, Tweek, fine, fucking fine!" Craig blurts, huffing dramatically. He lifts his head up and looks directly at Tweek, half-determined, and mostly annoyed, and all Tweek can think is that he's super gay, and that he's never even seen trees the color of Craig's eyes, and those brows are all contorted, and Craig just looks so _awake._ It's way too wonderful to be just. 

The tall grass sticks to seesawing, and Tweek feels a weary amount of electricity in his humerus.

It's not funny so much as _funny_ now how Craig's still staring, and if he keeps this up, Tweek's pretty sure he'll give away exactly how much he likes Craig.

"Christ, d-dude, if you'd just looked at me dead-on, I wouldn't have needed any batteries." Tweek blurts. Well, that was short-lived.

It's not a horrible feeling anyway. He's not really worried Craig will hate him. He feels kinda weightless right now, and he has a sinking feeling Craig won't believe him.

"That's," Craig begins, face flushed, and _whoa_ , that's even prettier. Tweek tightens his hold on the camera, until he's positive that his knuckles will turn to freshly fired porcelain and shatter off all boney white. "You're still filming?"

"Yeah. Sure. I d-don't know how to work this thing. I think it's on." Craig rolls his eyes, and Tweek scoots closer.

"It's not that tough to handle, man." Craig mumbles, coughing as he looks away.

"Don't do that." Tweek blurts, because he can feel something in his throat that beats  _really_ damn fast when Craig looks his way, and Tweek's pretty sure that this is the way he always was, and is, _supposed_ to live his life.

"Don't do _what?_ Tweek, buddy," Craig laughs a slight sweet sound. Tweek can see his braces poke out from that little smile. "You want me to just resist the urge to cough, like I can ju---" Tweek's gotta interrupt Craig's sarcastic rambling.

" _Ngh_ , Craig, _shh_ ," The sky is peeling in the darkness, and Tweek guesses he's got a good five minutes to catch a glimpse of Craig's eyes again in this light, head on. "Okay, man," Tweek shuffles a little closer. "I haven't seen a car go by since we got here. We're miles from everyone, r-right?"

"Yeah. Five and half miles from a house, at least."

"Oh, cool," Tweek's stomach feels like the bellows of an old accordion, and he fears he may wheeze quite soon. Tweek's pulse is starting and stopping, and his cheeks are burning unevenly, and he  _feels_ like a malfunctioning toaster right about now, so what better time to tell Craig,  _hey, I'm super gay for you?_ A crow coos, and flaps its' feathers until they make this fluttering sound, and it's all Tweek can hear. He thinks about flying, briefly, and he wonders what that fluttering sound is like up close. "Hey, man, I got something for you."

"Tweek, I can't handle anymore of your dad jokes tonight. I have way too much still footage to edit."

"It's not a d-dad joke! Good humor has no age limit." 

"It's got a taste level, though, and you really miss the mark."

"Um, okay," Tweek begins, deciding to ignore Craig's somewhat hurtful words. He's got the  _best_ fucking sense of humor. Craig's just a little allergic to good jokes. "I'm a chicken who's gonna be a turtle in another life, so," Tweek heaves this epic breath of air. He toes some dirt with his feet, and he squeezes the camera with his eyes shut. "Just kiss me before I turn into a frog."

The air is still. The birds are not. The branches in the woods snap, and Tweek wonders if there's a bear out there, or maybe something like a wild cow.

Tweek takes a passing glance at Craig, who's eyes are these fucking wide, wild things, and he looks pretty stunned. Tweek thinks that's sorta funny, 'cause Craig's got all the electricity in this backwoods road. Tweek wants Craig to turn, to look over, too, like everything's going to be somewhat salvageable, and shit, did Tweek make a horrible mistake was he _wrong_ all along and does his breath smell like coffee or shitty or is coffee a shitty thing to smell like and _dammit_ why don't they make amber mouthwash 'cause that's _definitely_ a good smell and maybe Tweek could just eat his amber soap instead but he doesn't _have_ the soap with him and _shit_ this was a really bad idea

Tweek tries to fill his lungs up with clean air, but it's fairly difficult to.

"That's funny, Tweek." Craig lets out, _finally_ , and he tugs on his hat. Tweek's pretty sure that's not what Craig wanted to say. 

"It's a, um,"  _Bach bach bach,_ the crow seems to mock. Tweek just puts his head in his hands. "It's a bad joke." Okay, so this isn't what Tweek wanted to say, either. 

They sit for what feels like longer than centuries, and shorter than eons. 

Tweek waits, even though he's not really sure what he's expecting. The moon is rising, and Tweek is still having trouble capturing some oxygen. Tweek can't remember what phase the moon's in, so Tweek begins rambling through his brain mindlessly 'til he remembers some astronomy. His mind's a dangerous place to go but Tweek's not totally alone tonight, so he'll be fine. The sky's torn blue, and Tweek's pretty disappointed that he won't be able to see Craig's green eyes. Craig must be overthinking this, Tweek assumes, because the words don't come easy, and Tweek knows it's not the hour.

"S-so," Tweek says, hoarsely. He clears his throat. "Wh-what kind of moon is that again?" Tweek points to the sky. Craig doesn't even have to look up.

"Waxing gibbous." Craig mumbles, still.

"O-oh. Cool," Everything's still. Everything's so silent. The crows have even stopped calling, and this is getting really outta bounds ridiculous. "So, about the, uh, _Christ_ ," Tweek mumbles. "About what I, what I s-said, um," Tweek lets go of the camcorder. He clamps down on his neck with two hands and scrunches his face up. He stares at the moon, the waxing ribbit or some shit Tweek can never remember. "Damn."

"You look like you just ate a lemon." Tweek blinks. Craig's eyes are back at the dirt, seemingly unmoved.

"I don't want a lemon, man, I want y---" _Ya_ or _you_ , _ya_ or _you_. "Fuck, I'm m-making this weird."

"Only if you're labeling it weird." Craig whispers, and Tweek feels a bit happy.

"So you _do_ listen to m-me."

"Buddy, if I didn't, we wouldn't be sitting here, and I," Craig does something with his face, and Tweek can't read it. He scratches at his neck. When that doesn't settle him, he tugs on his hat strings. "Wouldn't be imagining our existence in five years." Tweek moves closer to Craig, who barely glances over. Tweek leans over Craig's shoulder, and stares into the dirt with him.

" _That's_ what you're doing? What's it look like?"

"Bright," Craig mumbles, so quietly that Tweek's not even sure he said that. Tweek's breath snags a little bit. Craig swallows. "You still fall a lot."

"I didn't m-mean to make it all so, _so_  f-fucking weird, so don't zone out on me, yeah? It's just," Tweek huffs dramatically. "It's a fucking _kiss_ , man, y-you know, like, it's not _that_ weird! People kiss all the time! The pope kisses babies!" Craig cringes at that, but Tweek is honest-to-God trying to help make this less awkward. "You analyze everything too much, man!" Tweek huffs, and tries to bite back something sour, maybe some of this morning's oatmeal, too. "It was a bad joke. Sorry if it w-weirded you out this much. Pretend I'm on meds a-and, and I didn't say anything. _Shh_ , yeah? Alright?" Craig stays quiet. He rests his chin on his arms. 

"But I suck at acting."

"Yeah, you do," Tweek agrees, thoughtfully. "But h-hey, have you tried breathing exercises? You know, focusing on t-taking fou---"

"Can I have my camera back?" Tweek just nods, and hands off the camcorder, glad to get it out of his lap. Craig holds it for a second, and then stands. The gravel spits under Craig's boots, all huskily on the road, and he's off to his own world, where emotions don't exist, so people can't possibly be happy. Tweek takes a second leaving this place, because he isn't totally sure what just happened. 

Tweek's half-dreading the walk back to town, but he takes a couple breaths, 'cause he's gotta trust the universe, right?

 _Everything will be just fine_ , Tweek's gotta repeat it like a mantra, even if it feels like a lie. _Let it go._

Maybe talking will be a little rusty, and maybe a little awkward, but Tweek has to trust the universe, and say that this night was bound to happen. It's been fifteen years, no matter what Craig says about Clyde being his best friend until fifth grade. Pft, Clyde carried around a roll of toilet paper with a Sharpie face and said _that_ was his best friend, so Craig's got his signals crossed somewhere.

Besides, Craig's the one that basically said, _no homo, just let me film you._ So he's not _super_ innocent in all this weirdness. Tweek eyes Craig's slow walk, and then he kinda regrets leaving Craig the camera. He bolts up. 

"Don't you dare delete that!" Tweek yelps, running after Craig, who's already walked a winding distance away. "You were fucking gold, coward!" 

The air is mist, and the evening's cool. Tweek's all alone with his best friend, and there's _at least_ a five mile walk into civilization. Everything will be fine, Tweek hopes, even when they leave this place that's all dizzy, where the crow caws, and dying cameras are supposed to capture life. 


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, looks like there's another monty python ref. 
> 
> thanks for reading, dudes, and sorry for the late update! i just got back to school, so things are a little whacky in my world. i know this a weird bit, but i have the last chapter almost done, so i'll probably post that in a few days. there's no dialogue in this one but the last chapter's nearly all dialogue.
> 
> sorry bout this chapter - i dunno why but i felt like i wanted to write it and i'm sorry if there's mistakes!!! i'm super out of it lately. but please, do let me know if there's anything you dislike or wanna see me write! i'm up for challenges, and it seriously helps me add another story if you comment. 
> 
> thanks so much guys!!!
> 
> aaaaaaaaand away! <3

Craig _likes_ to think he's been working until 2:43am. 

Craig also likes to think that there's something close to life after death, and there's at least one species on pluto. If Craig likes to believe his best friend would actually want to use his face in an effort not to turn into a frog, well, who's going to judge? It's not like he's going to do anything about it. 

 _Kiss me before I turn into a frog_ , what an awful dad joke. It doesn't even make sense. It's not like Tweek's jokes ever make sense, but _still_. Tweek's never directed a joke at Craig like that before, and  _nothing_ makes sense. Craig guesses he should be used to this because, well, it's  _Tweek_ , and Craig's been best friends with this riddle-of-a-guy for twelve years. Craig doesn't even get half the shit  _he's_  said when he talks with Tweek. 

Craig kind of wishes that there was a possibility of Tweek turning into a frog. Fuck logic, or at least, just put it on low-key reality for a few minutes so Craig can imagine swooping in, and rescuing Tweek like the heroes of dusty fairy tales do. Craig could be a knight. He'd be Sir Lancelot for Tweek, or the Black Knight who doesn't need limbs, or a knight who says  _ni..._

Tweek needs to stop watching  _Monty Python_ so much, 'cause the only knights Craig can remember are from _The_   _Holy Grail_ , and those guys aren't very good at saving anybody. Craig needs to be good at saving Tweek, right? Isn't that how you win someone over? But that spitfire sure as shit doesn't need saving, and Craig's pretty positive he's not capable of winning _anyone_ over. Tweek's never even showed an interest in anybody, so maybe it's just all hopeless, and no matter what kind of chivalry Craig musters up, there's no chance of Tweek ever swooning.

Wait.

In those old fairy tales, isn't the  _prince_ a frog already? Or is it the princess? Doesn't matter the gender, Craig supposes, but isn't the point the fact that they're already  _cursed_? Wouldn't Tweek _have_ to be a frog first, and then Craig would kiss the frog to get Tweek to turn back, and never mind.

GoddamnTweek's confusing, and half thought out ' _jokes_ '. See,  _working_ until 2:43am sounds way better than  _consumed by thoughts of_ _Tweek_ until 2:43am. 

The last couple hours have been plain  _weird._ At sundown, Craig walked the dirt road with Tweek. Some crows hollered. Branches snapped. Tweek near lost his shit when a deer ran in front of them. It was a  _long_ , awkward two hours. Two cars passed. One had a broken tail light, and Craig wondered if they were sentient, and if the light that was left ever got lonely. Tweek seemed positive that everything would be fine, and Craig tried not to notice how far from fine everything felt, and for _what_? A lousy joke? Does Tweek  _know_ after all these years, and he just played it off as a joke? Was he really trying to ridicule Craig?

Craig doesn't know why the palmcorder felt much heavier in his hands on that road he was walking while Tweek was an anxious few feet from him. Craig kept flicking at the zoom dial, even though it was off, and he paid attention to his feet. 

They got in at midnight, a few  _hours_ ago, Craig's brain dully reminds him. Back in this shitty one bedroom apartment, to the creaking room in the mill town that they share with not only each other, but an array of uninvited critters. 

Well. 

They  _would_ be sharing this place with each other if Tweek hadn't booked about five minutes after they got through the door. Said he needed to study something for astrology, or he had a bird to pick a bone with. Tweek spoke too fast, and bolted before Craig had time to react.

But basically, that Buddhist asshole left Craig alone with his palmcorder, and this array of tightly wound feelings that Craig can't even bother to unknot. 

Ah, yep. Just lie until it feels fine and right. Like ten thousand bricks on his ribcage, but other than that, _fine_ right?   

It was a complete shit idea to be roommates with Tweek, Craig's decided. Besides the fact that he creeps around at odd hours, bakes at midnight, and plays his slow jazz music  _really_ fucking loudly, having Tweek around makes this feeling so much more work to hide. Craig hates the odd hours Tweek wakes up at. 

But the small apartment's been smelling like fresh bread since July, and Billie Holiday's easy to sleep to, so maybe Craig's just coming up with excuses at this point. He should realize by now that his heart's kind of there for Tweek, and it's probably not leaving. 

Craig reruns his camera footage about seventeen times. Tweek looks like August. Like homecoming or some shit. 

Craig desperately wants to delete all that footage of his own nasally voice, and his own dumb face, but if he did, then the whole tape would have to go. There’s no good way of saving Tweek falling, of Tweek’s eyelashes all golden and ready for rain, there’s no way to save all _that_ without keeping _this_.

And that's what's gold. Tweek was wrong. Craig pauses his footage on a still of Tweek balancing. Tweek's hands always look like they're ticking the keys of imaginary pianos, moving to the beat of fluttering insect wings, and Craig thinks it's a damn pretty sight.

Stupid palmcorder. Stupid feelings for thinking all that is worth this. Stupid Tweek and his stupid smart-ass comments.

Naw, stupid Craig.

Once again, here Craig is: half-aware, confused, and ill-prepared to act on jackshit. But Tweek called his face _pretty_ today. Even though he was teasing at the time, it felt like maybe, just _maybe,_ there was some honesty in there.

 _Dammit_ , Craig’s turning into a middle schooler.

Craig could really just ask Tweek what he meant. He could be straightforward, because that’s the way you get the truthful answers. Just be direct.

But, really, how would _that_ go down?

 _Am I pretty? Do you really think I am?_ _Totally normal questions, bro. No homo._ _Yeah, no homo at all. Just don’t read my mind where it’s all super homo, and I'll be your piano._

Ugh. Deep shit. What a weird, _weird_ , horrid thing that Craig _never_ wants to say out loud.

Craig really should’ve stopped replaying that footage a long, long, _long_ time ago. He greatly regrets how it's imprinted on his brain. It'll die with him, and those sunlit moments will be filed along with his heart, under _hopeless_ , _confused_ , and _why Tweek why._ Craig blacks out the camera after debating hitting the play button for the eighteenth time.

Guess he can call his life officially over. 

Christ.  _This_ is pathetic.

See, Craig thought his pulse would stop running at the sight of Tweek years ago. Craig thought, way back in middle school, that Tweek kicking his alien socks wouldn't matter in five years, 'cause Craig wouldn't be noticing that stuff anymore. Hell, it was just supposed to be a stupid little crush. It wasn't supposed to be for keeps. In five years, Craig had thought he wouldn't get lost in the way Tweek used to say  _ace_ on repeat when he was trying to calm his nerves and pretend everything was fine. Craig thought he wouldn't care about the way Tweek scrunches his nose up more on the left side than the right, especially when he chews bubblegum.  

But Craig's gotten an embarrassing amount of footage of Tweek popping and chewing gum in the last month. So, safe to say for keeps.

Dear god, he's a secret stalker. He's literally the worst friend. What the fuck is he doing with his life.   

This film project for Falbrooke seems like it'll be a bust. Craig's glad it isn't do until the sixteenth. The footage Craig got tonight feels almost too personal to show off to anyone. Tweek's pondering death, and his eyelashes are beautiful when they beat like humming birds fly. It's too much. It's too close, Craig got too close. Plus, about halfway through, the camera got hijacked by Tweek, so everything after those fluttery hands took over is kind of useless for school. Craig doesn't know what'd be worse: sharing _that_  with a class full of sleep-deprived and half-assing-it-USA-college-kids, or Tweek.

No, _definitely_ Tweek. Definitely the prying and talkative as fuck bastard, with the sweet grin that can, and does, make Craig's face eat fire nearly everyday.

Okay. Fine. Alright.

So, what if he makes Craig's face burn? Who's judging, anyway? Tonight, Craig's  _alone,_ even though it's Saturday, and that usually means movie night, but whatever. Tweek can come back whenever he feels like it. What's Craig care? At least Tweek's not here to judge, and pry, and do more of his  _why are you blushing, dude, is it a fever, or a thought, or a fever thought_ BS.

The lights in this apartment are all off, kept calmer than a secret, and nobody's reading Craig's fever thoughts. 

Gotta keep it cool. _Be brave, and open a bottle to shove the feelings into_. Good mantra - hey, thanks, dad. It's worked for nine years, right? Hasn't it worked for nine years? 

It's been _alright_ for nine years, Craig guesses. Tweek hasn't suspected much, as far as Craig knows. Well. Until tonight, Craig didn't think Tweek knew shit. Not even when they were on that hiking trip together in ninth grade and camped out alone in the woods. Craig was fully aware Tweek was not his pillow, but that didn't really stop him from falling asleep on his shoulder. Blame it on the cold, and the long hike, and it's not gay at all. 

Yep. Just a couple of best pals using super hetero survival techniques.

Then Tweek gave him a funny look, and Craig groggily began to realize how much of his days were spent staring at Tweek, and he began to wonder  _how_ exactly he'd gotten away without  _that_ funny look in all those moments he'd stared. 

So he stopped looking, because  _hetero_ survival techniques.

The lame ' _bonfire'_ freshman year here, too, at this university.  _Yikes._ That's why Craig doesn't drink around people anymore. The bottle tips, and then you almost spill your feelings. But that night, all that spilled was that morning's tofu scramble, and about a fifth of vodka. Tweek was there the whole time to make sure Craig didn't choke and _drown in puke like Janis Joplin._  Tweek continued to toss out helpful and slurry comments in between back pats, like:  _if your tofu_ wasn't  _already scrambled, it is now._

Craig didn't think it was funny.

Even with all the alcohol gone, and his throat raw from retching, Craig knew he was in deep, 'cause _five_ years was a helluva long time back then to crush on someone. 

Tweek still stuck around, through the puke, and Craig realized Tweek always _had_ stuck around through Craig's worst moments. Craig didn't realize there was a whole other level he could feel to this love shit. Why'd Tweek have to stick around? Why'd he have to be sweet while Craig was emptying his stomach? 

Craig's almost said that cliche sentence to Tweek. He's almost confessed with the Peter Gabriel serenade, the _it's always been you_ , everything. Craig's nearly done it all, every trope, at least seven goddamn times since he met Tweek in elementary school, but his throat gets stuck on itself, and words like to play tricks on Craig.

It's kinda of a miracle Tweek hasn't suspected anything before, honestly. It's been some secret that Craig's totally kept tight-lipped and stone-faced about. 

Tweek has to take a crowbar to nearly  _every_ conversation, though, and it's annoying as hell how much the short bastard pries. Living in an enclosed space with him sounded like heaven, but it's honestly been torture. Maybe Craig's fine. Maybe he's not fine. It doesn't matter. Tweek doesn't have to know it  _all_ , because if he did know it all...

If he did know it all, that'd have to be okay, too. 

Fine, he'd learn to deal, and it'd be fine. Tweek would just make the jokes about how gay Craig is, and that would be that. 

Super, super fine.

The leaves blow cold against the window.

Craig can't sleep like this. He can't do this. The lights are off. The window's closed, but the breeze is knocking harsh. He's wrapped under an insane amount of blankets, but he still can't sleep. Craig rarely dreams about Tweek, but he thinks about him a helluva lot before he conks out for the night. It usually helps. Not tonight, though. Tweek stocked off with his hands crossed behind his neck, and he kept saying his little mantra:  _nothing is wrong, the universe will even the scales,_ just _let it go_ , or something else altogether very Buddha of Tweek to think. Once in a while,  _ace_ slipped in there, and that's why Craig's sure something is truly wrong. 

Something's kicking around outside. Maybe there's a crow, or a different bird. Why is he stuck on _crows_ so much lately? Maybe it's not even a bird. Maybe it's just a mouse.

The town sleeps. Craig wishes he could, too.  

Craig supposes he could've gone along with Kenny when he invited him, but bars just make Craig uncomfortable, and parties are way worse. Everyone's stuffed together, flushed like tomatoes. There're all these bright lights, and people are always shouting. There's no having a conversation at these places; the people there all lean in close, too close for comfort just to catch something insignificant, like  _hi._

_What?!_

They like to shout that at parties, with big grins. 

_What?!_

Every four fucking seconds, 'cause they can't hear a goddamn thing over a thumping bass. And the same people that grin all warmly when Craig kicks once a year at a party around look at him bleakly in class next Tuesday, and call his short films five dollar words. Shit like  _ethereal_ , and _luminescent,_ and Craig guesses he should feel humbled by that, but it's hard to when he knows howthese same folks woke up: in the back of Kenny's pickup, with someone else's underwear in their hand. Craig knows just being in Kenny's fifteen foot radiusis the least ethereal place. People like Kenny's films, though. They love _him_ , so no, they actually love the damn films. Sure, they're  _fine,_ sometimes nice to look at, but mostly, they're the same art school trash that's supposed to look deep. If you go searching through the stills, past the CD's Kenny's nabbed, and the filters, it's all flat. 

Craig seriously doesn't understand cheap thrill aesthetics. Craig doesn't get his own art, not really, but at least he cares enough about it to spend longer than two lousy hours on a project. 

Craig's pretty positive his video teacher kind of hates his work anyway, and he's  _tsk tsk_ ed at Craig's refusal to use modern technology. Digital footage might have more options, more special effects, but Craig's camcorder's worn-off black to gray, where his fingernail has fiddled absently with the zoom since he was fourteen. It's filmed everyone. Cataloged every futile attempt at baking Ruby ever had. This lens watched Stripe spin on his dish made up to look like a ferris wheel. The camera's caught Stripe in the Ford, too, squealing happily and too fucking adorably in a little blue cape.  

Craig's camcorder gets the real dirt, no bullshit. It's raw.

The camcorder loves Tweek.

Well, Craig guesses that's not really fair. Any camera would love Tweek. What's not to love? Except the elusiveness, and the cryptic speech, and the inability to state one thing solidly, and the waking-friends-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-to-do-dirty-work... 

But, you know, what's not to love? 

Craig groans, and he knows he's in deep shit, because he loves all that stuff Tweek does to him. Craig loves the fucking riddles, he loves the way his best friend talks  _far_ too much for him to qualify as a stable individual anymore. He doesn't especially love the whole waking-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night thing, but he's grown to tolerate it, and isn't that close enough? 

It’s three fifty now, and Craig can’t sleep. He rolls over until the sheets bunch up, and he hopes his eyes will go with them. He wonders when Tweek will be back from the all-night study room at the library. He also wonders if that’s where Tweek _really_ is, or if he’s off wandering the wilderness.

 _Yeah_ , Craig thinks with a bit of comfort. Tweek’s probably digging a hole in the woods, and rolling in the soil until he no longer smells like whiskey sours. He’s probably hollering to some half-drunk partiers that he _is_ the barbarian king, the protector of the forest, _yada yada_. Basically everything from an old elementary school game that won’t die down, so Tweek has something to do when he's around some alcohol. Tweek gets super nostalgic when he's drunk or tired. 

Craig doesn’t know how he’ll handle Tweek coming back a little buzzed, if that’s what he’s doing. It’s more than a rare occurrence. Craig's not good with drunk people, blunt until they just end up screaming at him, but drunk  _Tweek_ is a totally different story. 

Craig is terrible at handling drunk Tweek. 

The last time Tweek actually had a few drinks, it was February, and he pawed at Craig’s face sloppily for a solid minute. It was close to the best minute of Craig’s life in a while, except for the fact that Tweek smelled like patchouli, like _that_ was gonna cover up the vodka he got into, and his pinky almost hit Craig’s eye twice. He also kept telling Craig he _was_ the _spaciest shithead,_ and a fool, but Tweek had said it so fondly that Craig didn’t take offense, especially when he called Craig a moron, but _not like the politicians ‘cause they have more on, more clothes on, and you have clothes on, too, man, but the lessons have less on. Hey, why don’t you put less on and you won’t be a moron?_

Actually, that was kind of funny.

Wait. 

Wait, what if Tweek’s dad joke wasn’t really a joke this afternoon? What if he actually  _wanted_ Craig to kiss him and  _nah_ , no.

Nah. Impossible.

If Craig just stays up long enough, Ruby will be awake. Just a few more hours of feeling like shit, and then he can call Ruby to tell her what trash he actually is. It probably isn't news to his kid sister. Little siblings are like that. They know everything you didn't, and they still manage to pretend they look up to you. Craig thinks it's sweet Ruby's such a bullshitter.

Craig can even imagine their conversation so realistically, it soothes him. He can almost feel slumber taking over when he thinks about it.

_Tweek called my face pretty. What does that mean?_

_You’re such trash, Craig. You woke me up, did you even go to bed?_  

_What does it mean?_

_Put Tweek on the phone._

But Tweek’s not _here_ , Craig realizes dazedly _._ His cluttered half of the room looks too empty tonight. The old train nightlight, probably meant for a five year old that Tweek bought for two bucks, is off.

So Tweek’s not over there, sleeping, and Craig has this weird feeling that things are off between the two of them. He rolls on his side, and stares at the window. Tweek usually climbs through it, but all that’s there is blue, blue, _blue_ skies, and it's fading into a pale version, like someone’s spilling too much white into the cobalt.

Craig can see the reflection of his alarm clock in the window, and it boasts a backwards 3:06.

Craig tries counting sheep, but they all look the same at this point, and they're just a cartoon in his head. They’re running a distance away, so Craig decides they can be free. Sure. Why not.

Imagination is supposed to be easy, if you let it be.  _Just pretend you're asleep, and you’ll get there._  

Craig tries to invent his dreams, but his head still takes him to the same memory, the same place it’s been going since he was thirteen.

To the school bus at seventh grade, where Tweek ruined every episode of the  _X-Files_ he had seen, and where Tweek stuck out his alien socked feet to trip a kid who made fun of Craig's teeth. Tweek split a package of pop rocks with Craig on the bus that day, and Craig thinks about those strawberry pop rocks for the first time in years. Craig tried not to smile so much that day. He was pretty good at stone-face, and looking like he couldn't give two shits, still is good at that, but his teeth _were_ crooked, bent, all sorts of messed up. The kid was right. Tweek probably shouldn't have tripped a guy for being _right_. Crooked's what his dad used to tell him. Craig's outsides reflected his insides, that's what dad would say, and he  _was_ all sorts of messed up. 

But Tweek was _nice_. He was funny, too, and if Craig let the absurd sentences find his grin once or twice that day, no one _really_ has to remember.

Well, except Craig.

But he’s an art school idiot who’s been living off of sour noodles, and the way his best friend speaks, so who can actually blame him?

Craig stuffs his face in his pillow. He hopes, if nothing else, that will suffice for sleep.

Craig sighs. He pulls out his phone, and lies in bed facing the too bright screen while his face glows bluer than the sky. He tries typing a couple phone numbers into his lock screen, before he realizes what he’s actually doing, and then he feels both dumb and ill-informed. He’s really in no shape to be _talking_ to anyone right now. That takes too much effort.

Craig checks the weather. Rain tomorrow. Cool.

He scans the news. Some actor’s bravely talking about their time as a cokehead. Surprising.

Craig checks his texts, re-reading the most recent ones from Token and Bebe. Token had sent him a message a few days ago that just said _D &D Friday, be there, _and Craig was not there, so Token's probably pouting. Bebe's so far away, and Token's not  _much_ closer, but he manages to drive out for bi-monthly D&D. Craig should've gone instead of obsessing. 

Craig kind of misses his dumpy town. He even misses the science storage room in his high school that looked out on the parking lot. Then he wonders why he misses _that_. High school was hell, and that room smelled like musty mops and waterlogged textbooks.   

Bebe wrote a week ago, meme of a guinea pig intact, along with a list of the year's best indie films. _!!! bae!!!! stunning cinematography, like a van sant...except it's got tarantino's footwork lol u have to watch it!!!!_ Bebe's enthusiasm can be infectious and distracting enough that Craig feels like maybe,  _just_ maybe his thoughts won't be consumed only by Tweek tonight. He's gotta have a day off from all that, right?  

Craig checks the time, and it’s already 3:24. Craig can’t possibly be considering staying up the whole night. That’s completely ludicrous. 

Tweek will come back eventually, and they’re fine, because Tweek hasn’t said anything. Things between them will be just great.

Fine. Unbelievably fine.

Craig might as well just be saying _aces_ over and over again, like Tweek in the eighth grade, and shit.  

Craig's unsure if Tweek understands the impact he leaves. Being around him is like running into a brick wall at 35 mph, with a rusted and rained out Ford. Mega impact. Craig would say Tweek's close to supernovas sometimes.

Well. Dammit. Consumed by thoughts of Tweek 'til  _how_ late? 3:37? The end of time? 

The wind blows harshly outside. Craig pulls out his headphones, and he scrolls to a random podcast of _Science Friday_ because that's interesting. Plus, the public radio broadcasts are soothing, and the guest is talking soft enough that Craig feels himself _maybe_ starting to sleep. Craig’s barely listening anyway. Words like _evolve_ , and _mention,_ and _happened_ are making their gentle way to Craig’s brain, but not much else is coming through.

Social behaviors, too, Craig muses as his brain starts to die a little.

They’re talking about queen ants, and how they come to be the queen. There’s more insulin in them, that’s one factor. Craig’s gotta remember that in the morning.

Hah. _Morning._

The window creaks, but Craig’s eyelids are like these sandbags right about now, and _fucking_ finally.

What Craig dreams, it’s not sunshine, _thank God_ , because it's too early for anything bright. It’s crows pecking at grass. They're making a rocket out of a pair of red rollerblades, and Craig's watching the sun cast down over the abandoned blueprints of a fallen castle. If there was ever a knight there, Craig's positive they're long-gone, 'cause chivalry's deader than the dry leaves knocking against his window in the breeze.  

A crow caws, swoops up the paper, and crash lands on the moon. Feather dust everywhere. From the ground that looks an awful lot like the street he grew up on, Craig thinks,  _thank God I can't fly_ _._


	4. v.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh sorry dudes! this chapter could've been better and i'm positive there are mistakes so if you see something lemme know! but the next one's all dialogue too - i didn't intend for this to be very long but now it is whoops 
> 
> i def need more monty python refs. let me know your favorite skits below if you've seen them! and if you haven't by golly get on it 'cause they're hilarious.

"Aces, aces, aces,  _aces_." 

"Would you stop doing that?" 

"What?" Tweek removes his hands from his head, tossing a confused look to Kenny. Kenny's picking out pieces of lettuce from a sandwich that's a half-eaten scrap of a thing, and flinging them about the table like they're confetti and he's Rip Taylor. Tweek thinks it's kind of beautiful how the green leaves float in the air. Kenny slams his hand down on the table, and Tweek jolts up. "Argh,  _Jesus Christ,_ dude! What the fuck!" 

"You were looking at the lettuce all weird. Freaked me out." 

"Lettuce is part of the daisy family," Tweek sighs. "And it's, ah, it's good for you, too. It helps with insomnia, and you know, hydration." Kenny shrugs. 

"I sure as heckarooni don't need the hydration. I'm perfectly fit and _fine,_ " Kenny wipes a hand over his mouth, and holds a bottle of vodka towards Tweek. "I wish I had insomnia. I'd get so much done." Tweek pushes the bottle away and glares. Arguing with Kenny gets him nowhere, so it's best not to tell him how  _awful_ insomnia actually is, and ask _what_ Kenny would get done anyway? 

More like  _who_ , Kenny would probably respond, and see, that's why arguing with him doesn't work. He just puns it all into something pervy. Kenny holds the bottle out again, ignoring Tweek's previous refusal, or just plain forgetting about it because he's already started a drinking competition with himself. 

"Uh uh. Nope." It's pooling way past midnight above them, and Tweek's holding a pair of rocket red rollerblades. They're sitting at a picnic table that's lit by the streetlights by the sidewalk, in a park that's a good five minute walk from Tweek's apartment. Tweek doesn't feel much like going back to the apartment. He kicks his feet on the grass, and when that doesn't make him feel better, he lays down on the bench. 

"Oh, right. I forgot. You're  _pure_ , and all that shit. Hey," Kenny grins something cheeky and knowing. "How's Craig's project going? I'm starting mine tonight."

"Jesus, what is it this time?" Tweek asks, with eyes shut. "Another porno?"

"Tasteful nudity, my boy. It's _art._ " Kenny licks his fingers off, crumbs and wilted lettuce surrounding him. He crumples the bag his sandwich came in. Kenny tosses it towards the trashcan, and when he misses (like always), he leans back and pretends he hasn't.

"Why is that your excuse for everything? What is it with you guys?"

"It's an explanation."

"It doesn't explain squat if a urinal and Starry Night both count as art! Excuse, I say." Kenny just laughs this off, his haughty one where it's all like,  _oh you silly boy_ , and Tweek believes Kenny should shove it, but he'd probably enjoy that too much. 

"What's Craig's about, anyway? Another tribute to you?" Tweek furrows his eyebrows.

"Uh, no? I wanted to juggle but he said,  _ngh_ , had to be  _movement_. But you know how much movement's in juggling? It's all about the movemen----"

"So, yeah, then? Another tribute to you, sans juggling." 

"It's not a tribute to me, I'm just helping him." Kenny scoffs. 

"Pft, _okay_ , Tweek. Sure, sure."

"What's that mean, man?"

"Everyone knows you in class, and you've never even been there. You're like, his muse or something. You're in nearly every thing he makes. Plus," Tweek tells his face not to scorch him, he  _really_ does, but it won't listen. Kenny takes a swig from his vodka. He pokes a pointed finger at Tweek, but Tweek swats it away. Kenny takes no offense. "When you're not in it, everybody's like,  _oh hey what happened to the blonde kid_." 

"The blonde kid." Tweek repeats tiredly. 

"Craig calls you his best friend, but I say," Kenny sways slightly as he leans over the table. Tweek guesses he shouldn't have texted Kenny to hang out on a Saturday night, when _his_ day's only beginning. But it's a good excuse to put off what he's sure will be the world's most awkward conversation. Tweek cracks open his eyes to find Kenny kicking back some more vodka. " _Buddy_." Tweek raises an eyebrow, while Kenny wiggles his.

"Man, I wish." Tweek mopes. Kenny sighs as sympathetically as he can while he's teetering on the edge of tipsy and ready to party. Partay. Ready to part _ay_. He pats Tweek's shoulder, and Tweek rolls off the bench to stand up. Kenny follows him, stumbling a bit as he stretches on his tippy-toes and yawns. 

"I think you just have to go out and say it. Might even need to scream it to him before you, ahem,  _scream_ it to him." 

"Jesus, dude, can't your mind live anywhere else?" Kenny takes another swig of the vodka, and shakes his head. 

"I only have this, Tweek," Kenny places a stern hand on Tweek's shoulder to stop him from walking. "This is all I am. Just," Kenny grins, closing his eyes and sloshes the vodka around. Tweek watches it, and he thinks the alcohol moving around a whole lot like a rocky sea in a thunderstorm, and then he hopes no sailors have to endure that kind of weather. It's vicious. Kenny's a vindictive God, ruthless to the sea of Absolut, the rocky waves of Peppar without the e. "Enjoy my splendor." Tweek shoves Kenny's hand off of him. 

"You've got lettuce in your splendor." 

"Awh, shit," Kenny sighs, and feels around with his tongue on his front teeth. "Is it gone?" 

"Sure." Tweek lies, because he can't stand watching Kenny dig through his teeth with his tongue for one more goddamn second. Kenny clucks his tongue.

"I knew that fucker would get the best of me." 

"Huh?" 

"That damn lettuce - don't you  _listen_ , Tweek? No, of course not. You never liste..." But Tweek's not listening anymore. He's wondering what Craig's up to right now, and if he'll ever admit to jackshit. Maybe Kenny's right. Kenny's not often right, and his advice is usually low-grade, off-brand, and targeted at the easily charmed, but still. 

Still. 

Kenny might be right about this one. Maybe he  _should_ just go up to Craig and say:

Fuck. What should he say? 

A crow caws above them, calling Tweek out of his internalizing. The sky looks like the darkness of his cellar back home, where all the secrets live, and Tweek thinks he must be a little bit fucked up to be comforted by that. Then it starts to pelt little droplets of rain, and Tweek guesses he should have gone home sooner. Maybe the crow was warning him about this. 

"Ken, slow it down, man. I think I'm going to do it."

"Listen to me? Holy fuck, you're actually going to listen to me?"

"No, sorry." Tweek says, somewhat apologetically, but Kenny's ditched on him so many times in life, he figures that not much offense will be taken. 

"Eh, whatever. I space when you start talking about lettuce."

"You do? Hear me out, man. Lettuce is really rad for you, man, but you gotta get romaine, 'cause iceberg's got the----"

"Tweek, oh my fucking god, I can't hear about lettuce. I won't hear about lettuce. What the fuck are you gonna do?"

"See that crow?" Tweek asks, pointing to the sky. Kenny looks up, squinting. He doesn't spot anything, not really, except rain, which he curses out for hitting his eye. Tweek the goddamn trickster. 

"Oh, yeah. Hey, look at that! A crow out here. How extraordinary." Kenny fibs, because he wants to make sure that he wins tonight's challenge of seeing which one of them can tell the most white lies to the other. 

It's an ongoing problem between them. 

"Dude, that crow's been stalking me since noon. You know what the crow  _means_?" 

"Death." Kenny offers, a little darkly. Tweek shakes his head. 

"Gutterhead," Tweek reminds, but Kenny just shrugs. "Destiny. They're destiny." Kenny furrows his eyebrows.

"Alrighty," Kenny says slowly. "Howdy, destiny. I've always wanted to ask ya something; who's child are _you_?" 

"Lame." Tweek says scrunching his face. Kenny shrugs, snickering to himself.

"Eh, probably, probs wouldn't be so lame if you would take a drink, too." 

"Naw, man," Tweek shakes his head. "I'm staying sober." Kenny rolls his eyes.

"Well, you're no fun."

"I woke up in, uh, in Craig's bed last time I had some of your shit." 

"What!" Kenny sputters laughter. 

"You're _laughing_?! Why are you laughing? Dude, it's not, n-not fucking  _funny!_ Nothing happened anyway! I just woke up there, and, and he called me a lightweight, but I'm not a lightweight, you've seen me, Ken, haven't you? I can hold my own!"

"Like a Texas trucker. Sure, Tweek, sure," Kenny's still laughing pretty hard, wheezing at this point. "Jesus fuck, he's so clueless." Tweek shuts his eyes tight. 

"Forget it, f-forget I said anything, and,  _ah_ , dude, how are you still  _laughing_?! It's not  _that_ funny!" 

"No," Kenny clears his voice, and tries to keep a straight face, but his joy keeps shining through. "You're right," Kenny says, smirking. Tweek doesn't think he's trying very hard not to do this. "It's just that it really  _is,_ Tweek."

"You're so unhelpful," Tweek frowns, scuffing his feet on the road as he heads back to his apartment. There are very few houses in this neighborhood, and they all look the same tonight. "I'll catch you later, yeah?" Nobody's up. Or home. The streetlights stop at the end of this street. Kenny's still following along, for some reason, and Tweek's pretty sure it's not 'cause he has nowhere else to be. 

"Okay, what about your crows?"

"Why are you still following me, man?"

"'Cause you seem sad or mad," The crow caws _again_ , and Tweek's alive at how electric that makes him feel. "And there's that darn crow tagging along. Looks like you got a posse." 

"I just wanna sleep."

"What's with this crow?" There's the caw again that Tweek's pretty familiar with, and he grins wildly. "It's like it's screaming at you. Jesus." Kenny shudders, and Tweek's slightly disappointed he doesn't seem to be as stoked about the whole deal as Tweek is.

 

"They just, they, they're like," Tweek begins, quietly. The rain's not pelting yet, just drizzling, and there's no thunder.  "They're telling me to be fearless, dude. _That's_ why they're following me. It all makes so much sense."

"If you say so." Kenny says, with an inch of doubt. "Good luck with Craig. Dude's clueless as fuck."

"Yeah." Tweek agrees, as he sees his apartment in the distance. It's really just the ground floor, with one bathroom, a sort of kitchen, a room that serves for just junk, and then the one bedroom, where Tweek has plenty of excuses to watch Craig while he sleeps. 

Tweek's only  _spacing out_ , honest. Craig's just in his line of sight. 

Yeah. Good defense. 

Craig, Tweek's pretty sure from the few looks he does get nowadays, does dig him a little bit. Right? But what  _if_ Tweek's wrong, even though he's almost positive he isn't, or Craig just won't admit to anything because he's bad at talking? What if Tweek's wrong, and then things are even more awkward for the rest of the year, and Craig moves out because it's too much... _feels_ for him to handle.

That honestly seems likely, which kinda scares Tweek. What if Craig really can't handle how  _much_ Tweek cares, 'cause Craig's honestly bad at handling his own emotions...what if they can't stay friends, and what if 

 _Bach, bach, bach,_ the crow mocks Tweek,  _bach bach bach_ , it taunts, and Tweek figures he's about  _this_ close to the end. He should just rip the bandaid off. 

"You good there, sport?" 

"Kenny," Tweek begins softly. "What if, uh, wh-what, what if he doesn't, um, you know?"

"Wow, what it must be like to live in your head," Tweek glares at the dirt. Kenny sighs. "You've been besties since what, middle school? And how many times have I seen Craig ogle over you?" Tweek stares at Kenny, because he doesn't know the answer. He's too busy ogling at Craig. Tweek's deciding maybe he should listen to Kenny more, but it's hard to listen to the words Kenny says when about seventy percent of them are pervy, and twenty percent are just things that move his perverse thoughts forward. So, all in all, there's a good ten percent of Kenny that Tweek very much enjoys being friends with. Tweek's just glad he got the good bit of Kenny tonight. "And hey, if it makes ya feel good, I've got fifty bucks on it working out, so if anyone should be concerned, it's me. But do I look it? _No._ " Kenny drawls out. 

"Who else  _knows_ about this? I thought it was just you, and, and Clyde!" 

"Oh, yeah. Clyde. Hey, that opens up the pool. Well, alright." Kenny says, grinning all satisfactory. 

"Ken! The fuck!" 

"Hey, calm down, spaz. Most of us are rooting for you guys, anyway. It's really just Stan that's holding out, 'cause he thinks you know, you and Craig are like him and Kyle, and just bros, no homo. But come on. There's always room for homo." 

"Stan's in on this, this stupid bet?! I haven't seen him since eleventh grade!" 

" _Shush_ , puppy, shh. It's supposed to make you feel better that everyone's betting against Stan. Even Kyle is. True love exists. Craig's just oblivious. Whoo." 

"When did you guys  _make_ this thing?"

"Eighth grade. Well, me and Bebe did in eighth grade, but the others took a while coming around. You remember 2008, don't you?" Kenny says, after thinking about it for a second. Tweek lets his mouth stay agape slightly, and then he tucks his hands behind his head. 

"This is really, _really_ painful, uh, info. This is a lot, dude." 

"Yeah, it is, Tweek," Kenny agrees. "Remember that dance? Valentine's Day. I almost got to second with Bebe. Pretty great night all in all for me."

"Kenny." Tweek warns, before Kenny goes off to reminisce about his past exploits. 

"Craig had a card, but you didn't show. I bet it was for you."

"D-don't be ridiculous, man, how can you know that?"

"It was all sci-fi and weird. I dunno, shit, Tweek, it was a _long_ time ago," Kenny says. "It's probably for the best you guys didn't get together then. Who the fuck _knows_ if you'd even still be friends. Look at me and Bebe. We lasted like, a hot second," Kenny thinks about this. "And I mean a  _hot_ second."

"There's,  _ngh_ , th-there's twelve years on this, dude. It's a, um," Tweek hiccups nervously. "Long time. Twelve years."

"And fifty bucks," Kenny adds, and when Tweek gives him a look, Kenny puts his hands up. "I can't afford fifty bucks. I can't even afford Maruchan." 

"But vodka you, _ngh_ , you can get vodka?" They're standing in front of the apartment, and the lights are all off. Tweek always forgets that people can sleep before four in the morning, and that most people in fact do.

"That's a necessity." 

"That," Tweek begins pointedly. The rain is soaking his clothes so at this point, Tweek's starting to smell like a wet dog. Awesome, cool, rad. Great way to prepare for this confrontation. Craig's probably asleep anyway. He probably won't talk to him 'til morning, but morning's only a few hours away, and soon the sky will look like a bunch of headlights on the freeway at dawn, painted all fuchsia orange and cloudy blue. "Sounds like a problem."

"But it _tastes_ like heaven on earth."

"What are you talking about? Your shit burns like _hell_ , man. That stuff is nasty." 

Their apartment, _this_ building's just an house, split into two small sections. The upstairs part's for rent, so Tweek figures that if tonight ends too awkwardly that one of them can at least rent a place up there so they won't have to face each other. 

Then Tweek remembers he doesn't  _really_ have any money, which is why rooming with Craig seemed like a good idea. _Just like freshman year_ , and Tweek was excited until he remembered how painful it was for Craig to be  _right_ there, a solid two and half feet away in the cramped dorm, and still be so unattainable. 

This year's been alright. It's been sunshine, lollipops, rainbows, yada, yada, all the good things in life, and Tweek's just grateful that at least their room is bigger than the campus one. 

But seriously, fuck this. Tweek's been patient for a really long time, and he just wants to know if what Craig really meant was  _it's gay and it's art_ earlier tonight. Tweek wants to know if Craig intentionally falls asleep on him when they watch movies, or if it's just 'cause he's closer than the side of the couch. Craig used to give Tweek these long looks, too, and Tweek wants to know why the hell  _those_ stopped. What, does Tweek have permanent booger face or something? He makes it into a number of Craig's shorts, and Craig has no trouble staring at  _those_ when he edits for extraneous hours, so Tweek's pretty sure it's not booger face. 

Tweek kind of wants to know who he was in a past life, and if Craig followed him from there. 

And this crow cawing above Tweek seems too familiar. Tweek's positive he knows this bird from some other place, maybe where it looks like blue raspberries and other things that only exist artificially. Or maybe they worked together in a factory, smoke piling outside like church pews on Christmas. Maybe they were in a boarding house, and when the lights went out, and life got darker, more dangerous, this crow would always lead the way. 

Maybe the crow warned Tweek of the dangers of the world, or maybe, he was a teacher in some life that Tweek wishes he knew, and Tweek learned to listen.

Tweek wishes he could get better at listening. 

"Tweek, Tweeky Tweek----" Oh, shit, shit, Kenny's still here. 

"If you could just stick to the less embarrassing name, that'd be rad."

"Tweeker----"

"Asshole!" Kenny laughs obnoxiously and knocks his shoulder with Tweek's. 

"Good luck with loverboy." 

"Why do I tell you anything?"

"'Cause it's raining, and I'm drinking the nectar of the gods. Nectar of the gods, Tweek!" Kenny shouts, and laughs heartily. "I'm omni, love me. Thassa a why." 

"Absolut is not the nectar of the gods."

"Eh, but, but the drag queens drink it so, close as you can get to god, right?" 

"Sure." Tweek answers, offhandedly. Kenny nods his head, knowingly and honestly kind of used to Tweek's spaciness. 

"Make me proud, pussycat," Kenny slurs, with a sloppy wink. "Sure you don't want some of this?" Tweek shakes his head. "Alright, hippy. Do ya thing." Kenny says, somewhat encouragingly, but barely enthusiastically as he walks off down a hilly street. 

If Craig's up, Tweek decides, if he _wakes_ up, even, then they're gonna get this damn conversation out of the way. Kenny's gone off in a different direction, his Peppar without the e Absolut in tow, but only barely. Tweek guesses he should feel happy for the two of them, but he's got this little tug on his throat making him wanna check up on Kenny at some point, to be sure he's not actually drinking instead of eating.

Kenny could afford  _way_ better, if he put down the bottle. Forget Maruchan. Kenny could get  _Koyo_ , and isn't that just everything?

Tweek sighs.

No, _everything_ should be asleep, blue braces barely showing, probably still in a rumpled hat, and blanketed with at least three things even though it's only sixty out. 

And yeah, everything probably left cereal or something else out, too, just to see a damn rodent even though Craig swears _to you, Tweek, I don't want a mouse any more than you do_. 

Then  _why_ , Craig has trouble explaining, does the camcorder record a dish all night? Dishes don't move unless you're on bath salts, everyone knows that, and camera's are incapable of getting high. 

Mice _are_ fucking adorable, Tweek agrees, but they belong out and about of the house, not shitting all over the place. It's damn disgusting. Tweek's pretty sure that Craig sets off the humane traps himself, too, when Tweek's gone to class. Craig's excuses are lame.

 _Something must've tripped it._ Yeah, you. 

 _Didn't you feel the breeze today?_ No, how can you with the windows shut?

 _Spooky. Must be a ghost, Tweek_. Tweek wishes mice weren't so adorable, or if they _have_ to be this adorable, just don't bring diseases and shit to the house, 'cause Tweek always folds when he sees a little nose wiggle about from the coffee table. Craig should just get a guinea pig again so Tweek can stop losing brain cells bleaching the dishes, and the counters, and literally every surface. Craig's so much neater than Tweek inall other areas. His room looks like a military bunk. Tweek's even tried bouncing coins off the bed, and he's always in awe how springy it is.  

Tweek glances up at the apartment in front of him, _his_ apartment, or their apartment, and he knows it's painted the lilac color of dusty candy wrappers from his youth. In this darkness, though, the apartment looks just like the past midnight sky, like his cellar back home on Oak Street, where there are no overhead bulbs, so everyone's secrets have time to hide.

And Tweek's sure it's a bit fucked up to be so comforted by a place that was the death of his childhood, but then again, _he_ is a bit fucked up so what's it matter, anyway? 

If Craig's awake,  _aces,_ Tweek thinks as he sets his sights on the window. 

 


	5. iv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ily all sm, school's tough on me right now, but i really want to finish this one up. i'm gonna respond to everyone, too, so if i haven't replied yet, i promise i haven't forgotten. i've just been so busy! sure there are tons of errors but oh well
> 
> this is super tough to end, i've written up way too much!! the next chapter should be out real soon (hopefully it's the last i'm honestly not tryna string you guys along i just didn't wanna end this thing rocky) i so swear things will def be resolved. 
> 
> also, as always if you don't like it, lemme know what i could've done better, 'cause i'm sure i coulda done a lot differently and i'd totally appreciate the help! i think it was the way i wrote craig this time idk but it's really a puzzle pretzel dudes
> 
> so sorry imma ruin this peace out pals <3

Tweek's confidence is draining away, kinda like vodka does when it nears Kenny's mouth. In fact, if it’s going at that rate, in two minutes there’ll be nothing left. 

Tweek can't have this conversation. He can't do this. Craig's sleeping, and his face is, well, it's kind of _right_ there, a few feet away, but just inches if Tweek keeps on moving. Tweek doesn't, because that'd be creepy. 

 _Ahem_. 

Tweek _doesn't_ because it would be creepy. 

It's so unreal and quiet in here. Even the floorboards are deciding to rest. 

Tweek walks back to his futon, and his blind feet knock into the damn rollerblades. They skid the wood away noisily, nicking up the pine, and Tweek winces. He spares a glance towards Craig, and Tweek's amazed he's still dreaming in that position. No one should be able to sleep with the way Craig's twisted around, half under a pillow, left leg sticking off the side of his bed, belly-down. Craig looks pretty happy about whatever's in that dream, too, so Tweek guesses that's something.  

Tweek wishes Craig would share his dreams more. 

Tweek can't do this. There's no way Tweek can do this. It's been eight years. Or twelve? Ah, _gee,_ who's keeping count?

It's storming like mad now, and the rain that pelts is close to thunder. Maybe it is thundering out there, but the crow is swooping by, cawing in murmurs.

Eight years. Twelve to friends, but eightyears since that day Craig forgot his hat in high school and somberly said,  _the sky's so dark on pluto that we'd be able to see the stars in the day._  Then, he leaned down to tighten his shoelaces, and mumbled, almost conspiratorially to his shoes: _I'm stuck in PE instead._

Tweek doesn't know why that day stuck with him, but it did, and he guesses that's been eight years. 

Tweek gives a whistle to the bird that's been mocking him, but the sleek beast just shuffles from the branch, sharp eyes telling Tweek not to worry so much. The crow flaps its' wings, settling on an oak tree, and Tweek watches the bird for a long minute. Tweek feels those flurry feathers, light and bubbling, in his stomach, flying up his throat.

But Craig's not awake, so that's good. Maybe he'll just talk to Craig tomorrow morning, or hey, next week would actually be better, 'cause Tweek's got that exam coming up, or maybe it should just wait until Thanksgiving break --- _no,_ winter break, where they don't necessarily have to see each other if this is all dynamites in Tweek's face.

Thunder booms. It cracks like pearly gates break, and the crow screams. Tweek almost screams, too.

The crow's fine. Ruffled, but fine. Tweek's both relieved and a little jealous. He wishes he could get to _fine_. 

"Okay, sure, _sure_ ," Tweek says under his breath. "Aces, aces, aces." Tweek begins mumbling.

"Why are you doing that?"

" _Argh_!" Tweek does scream this time. He stubs his toe against a trunk, and he lets out a soft _ow_ in his surprise. "Holy shit, dude," Tweek's words croak through him like he's got a cold or something. " _You’re_ up early, man."

"I was sleeping." Craig yawns, and shit, is he actually going to do this? Say _you_ instead of _ya_? Tweek's so stupidly nervous that he feels it in his toes, even in the one that healed funny from its' break in '08. 

"Yeah, totally," Tweek nods. "Uh, continue.” Tweek demands as Craig stretches in his back and pulls a blanket closer to his neck.

“Hello to you too.” Craig hums, voice all groggy. It sounds like a place where people can breath on Venus without oxygen tanks, or where a jar of Vegemite can talk, and the grocery stores have school desks in them, and crows are advanced enough to make spaceships.

You know, _dreams,_  but this dream just woke up, blearily blinking through the dawn. There's really no vodka left in Tweek. He sighs, and tucks his hands behind the back of his head to refrain from pulling out his hair and screaming: _mission failed, abort, abort_ _._

"You should sleep." Tweek slaps his forehead, because _yeah_ , he's just chickened out, hasn't he? Christ, he's had years here to prepare for this moment. He should be alright, at the very least.

"Can't."

Twelve years, though, _twelve_ big fat years can be ruined with a sentence, even though he's sure some part of Craig actually likes him. Like-like.

"Why not?"  _Rad_ , Tweek's going on twenty-three and he's still thinking in terms of  _like-like_. Is maturity even possible at this point? Has he grown into the habit of being perpetually childish, and incapable of dealing with grown-up emotions?

No, that one's on Craig. Tweek's really great at handling emotions. 

 _Super swell, aces and all_ , Tweek believes, and his hand tightens in on itself until his knuckles frost over.

"'Cause," Craig plainly states. "Where'd you run off to?"

“I forgot my, my roller blades.” Craig furrows his brows.

“You walked all the way back there," Craig begins slowly. "For rollerblades you don't even like?”

“Y-yeah,” Tweek admits, somewhat sheepishly. He rubs at his neck with the palm of his hand. “I think a crow is stalking me. Go back to sleep, man.” _Oh, you child, you man-child._

“I couldn’t sleep.” Craig half-lies.

"You looked pretty, um," Tweek taps at his ear offhandedly. "Pretty asleep a second ago."

"I thought you were a burglar. I feared for my safety. Had to play dead."

"I said you looked _asleep_ , not dead."

"Why are you nitpicking at this hour, Tweek?" Craig groans. "It's gotta be seven by now." Tweek shakes his head.

"6:23." Craig scowls at that, and yanks a blanket over his head. He shuts his eyes. There's no way he's going to admit how relieved he is that Tweek's back, and that he's actually talking to the bastard right now, because the _right now_ is morning, and Craig needs to be asleep.

Yeah, that makes sense. See, this is what happens when Tweek's around. The world keeps spinning, sure, but it goes the wrong direction, and maybe it's flat, too, or held up by tortoises.

"Dick." Craig decides.

"What? _Ngh_ , wh-why?"

"I'm so tired."

“You could, you know," Tweek mimes snoring, like that's still an option at this point. "I'm not bothering you.”

"Yes, you are. That's what you do, Tweek. You bother me, and I can't sleep."

"Oh," Tweek says, sounding like he feels actually shitty about the whole ordeal, and he doesn't even understand the full truth. "Sorry. Can you try now?"

"Why don't you join m---” _Good job, early morning fog brain._ "Why don't you sleep?"

“I'm willing myself not to,” Tweek flops down on his bed, and he makes a sour face. “And I think, think there’s a railroad spike in my spine.”

“It’s probably just a pencil.”

“I'm pretty sure I know the difference between the two,” Tweek says. The wind blows in some misty rain. Craig rubs at his face 'til his vision's blurred. He shuts his eyes again, like the idea of being asleep isn't totally hopeless.Craig sticks his face in his pillow. Seems to be his go-to these days. “You still awake? Craig."

" _Mhm_ ,” Craig says, muffled from the pillow. “For fuck's sake, make up your _mind_. Do you want me to sleep or not?" Tweek simply blinks. "What.”

"Am I really the only one in your films?" Craig twists his face around, because, well, that's out of nowhere, isn't it? Tweek opens his mouth a couple times, and shuts it. "Kenny, uh, h-he said I was, so," Tweek twists his thumbs. "Am I?"

"When did you see Kenny?" 

" _Am_ I?" Tweek presses. 

"No," Craig answers fast. Too fast, too early. "There's gas stations, wheat, snow, telephone wires, mice---"

"You don't film any, any other people, do you? Not even, _ngh_ , not even Bebe? I'm the only person, a-aren't I?" Tweek interrupts, impatiently. Craig doesn't answer for a long while. Tweek shuffles around on his bed until he pulls out _not_ a railroad spike or a pencil, but a wooden dowel. _Now, what was_ that _for_ , Tweek ponders to keep from overthinking whatever Craig's about to say, because Tweek's really great at overthinking, and Craig's really great at not saying much.

"If you are," Craig begins slowly, like he's thought about it for a while. "Do you mind?"

"Nah, just, j-just," Tweek scrunches his face up. "Gets lonely, dude. You should, you should put yourself in there," Craig says nothing, so Tweek continues on. "I mean, I must be a boring subject." 

"You're not a subject. You're not," Craig almost cringes and Tweek thinks that's an odd reaction. " _That_. Fuck, I need sleep."

"So,” Tweek frowns. "J-just _go_ back to sleep."

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

“Hey, why are you such an asshole?" Craig asks. "What’d I do to you?”

“Asshole? _I'm_ an asshole?" Tweek scoffs. Craig thinks he's treading on thin ice with the hour he's crawled through the window that squeals like a happy pig every time someone goes near it. And for missing movie night. "Craig? I'm not an asshole," Craig responds with a gruff _mrph_. "Why am I an asshole?"

"Isn't it self-explanatory, Tweek? It's like, seven in the morni----"

"6:26, actually." Craig turns to glare at the ceiling, which he does for a solid minute, and he bites his tongue, too, so something a little nasty stays back.

"You woke me up to talk about fucking _art_ ," Craig begins slowly and low. "After you ditched me on movie night to get rollerblades you hate, and _now_ you're telling me what to do. You are the asshole, Tweek. Deal. Accept it, don't deflect it."

"Shit, I missed movie night?" Tweek sounds real sorry about it, but Craig's honestly too tired to keep talking.

"Whatever, dude. I don't actually care." Craig lies.

"You're lying." The goddamn bloodhound sniffs out. Okay, so, movie night is something Craig _always_ looks forward to, and Craig knows he’s being petty tonight, but it's late and this is what you get when you haven't slept, he supposes. It's ridiculous. Craig spends the majority of his time around Tweek anyway, so movie night shouldn't feel so important.

Maybe it stings a little because it’s _their_ thing, and Tweek ditching on their thing to do his own thing is fine when he's not pissed. Craig feels like a shit friend for not catching on to something he’s sure Tweek wants him to just _get_. It’s an ongoing problem.

Craig just needs an explanation, he needs things to be clear when something's amiss, or else he'll stumble through the darkness. 

"I'm not."

"Look, j-just, I'm sorry, okay? I, I messed up so, so just go to _sleep_ , dude, and," Tweek says, blinking away. "Everything will be fine when you wake up."

"That implies everything's not fine now."

"Naw." Tweek argues.

" _Yeah_ ," Craig scoffs, with an intonation that mocks. "Because you're saying it _will_ be fine---"

"It could be a promise to _keep_ things fine by saying it wi---awh, _goddammit_ , Craig," Tweek grits out frustratedly. "Just stop being so damn stubborn, and, and _literal_ , man, and, _ngh,_ go _sleep_. Go dream, okay? Stop analyzing every little baby thing. You're gonna wear your brain out," Tweek half-pleads. "There's not much left in there, anyway." Tweek adds, cheekily, to lighten the mood but it backfires. The air is thick and tense. Craig can tell even from under his many blankets that are somehow still not enough.

Dang, couldn’t Tweek just shut the window already?

"Asshole." Craig grumbles, even though he wants to say, _No, Tweek, you're the one who's stubborn. You're the one who analyzes everything until you breathe headaches, dummy_. 

"Yeah, yeah, you, y-you already said that." Tweek adds, 'cause the asshole needs the last word, and Craig guesses that's the end of their conversation.

The sky is turning whiter and whiter. Rain is drenching the roof, and the wind shakes at the storm drains until the house mimics a wet dog, throwing water everywhere. Life still glows in cerulean blue outside, and Craig’s grateful for that. But the _morning_ is here, and Craig’s sleep-deprived brain is telling him to just let it go and blink once for dreamland.

Craig's almost sure Tweek fell asleep but that'd be _impossible_.

Tweek sighs loudly, breaking the beat of the rain. He hums a little tune that Craig vaguely recognizes. It’s kind of broken, and endearing when he can’t hit all the right notes. Craig thinks about going to sleep, and he really tries, but he's too awake now.Tweek's melody is keeping him up in the best possible way.

Not like he's going to admit that to Tweek. Craig's rather shitty at admitting things to Tweek. Plus, the asshole did wake him up at six in the morning, so compliments should be far from steadfast.

"Tweek." Craig grumbles. Tweek hushes himself.

"Shoot, sorry, _sorry_. I thought you were asleep," Tweek sighs again. It's soft and rumbling through the room. "How come you're not asleep?" Craig simply glares. Tweek doesn't get it. Craig rolls his eyes.

"Hum some more, why don't you?"

" _Ngh_ , why?"

"Why not. Sounded nice." Well, there's one compliment. 

"You mean it?"

"Yeah." Craig nods, skeptically. 

“H-hey, wanna," Tweek begins, slowly, like he's putting down the biggest bet he'll ever make. Craig blinks. "Watch the sun rise?” _Not really_ , Craig thinks, ambling his brain for something that _isn’t_ that, because Tweek’s back, and Tweek’s not pissed, he's talking and basically, _Tweek_.

“Tweek.” Craig’s brain is rarely rooting for him, Craig decides. 

“Yeah?”  _What a genius idea to live with the guy you’ve been in love with for years, dipshit._  

“Forget it. Goodnight.”

“Morning."

"Nope." Craig pops the  _p_ and sticks his face deep in the coffin of blankets, defiantly denying morning. 

“Sh-shit, alright. Alright, Craig," Tweek inhales deeply. A crow calls outside, and that seems to upset Tweek even more. Craig turns and raises his eyebrow lazily. "Alright, alright, alright." 

"Wanna say _alright_ one more time?"

"All. _Right_." Tweek bites, pointedly and crisp. He holds up his pointer finger to Craig, signaling him to wait, but Craig's an impatient bastard.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean? What are you planning?” Tweek shakes his head.

“We’ll see if we need the other fingers.”

“The fuck, dude. You're so weird.”

“I’m really, _ngh_ , r-really scared of turning into a frog.” Tweek admits, like this is a proper explanation for _anything._

“Frogs are cool,” Craig replies on autopilot, shutting his eyes again. “They can vomit their stomachs, you know, and turn them upside down, inside out, whatever way you want it.”

“Jesus Christ, man,” Tweek stares at Craig unabashedly. “What if they just, just stayed _put_? That’s horrifying information to share willy-nilly.”

“Using the phrase _willy-nilly_ is actually what’s horrifying, Tweek.” Tweek stares. He rolls his eyes, and holds up two fingers to Craig. Craig knows he’s making a point, but it just feels rude, especially because Craig can’t follow, and Tweek is now aware that Craig isn't following.

Honestly, a dick move, but whatever.

“Seriously, Tweek, _what_ is that for? Why are you doing that?”

"I paid Clyde seventeen dollars in mostly dimes once in eighth grade, so, so I c-could,” Tweek phrases carefully or, tries to. “So I could be your partner in Biology. I gave him day old muffins for a month, too.”

“A month.” Craig repeats, dumbly, because he isn’t sure what _that_ means.

“Yeah, echo,” Tweek whispers. It's almost as loud as a shout. “A month.”

"Why dimes?" 

"Clyde wanted to, to  _make it rain_." Craig huffs a little laugh at that. 

"Just with dimes?"

"I, I pulled from the tip jar. There might have been some quarters." 

“Cell division?" Craig blinks. Tweek brightens in the dull morning.

"Hey, you remember!"

"That unit didn’t last long.” Craig says, after a moment.

“I know! Tell me about it," Craig keeps his eyes shut, even though he feels Tweek edge closer. Either Tweek or a large rodent of some sort. But he's pretty positive it's Tweek. "Seventeen dollars is a lot in eighth grade, you know? Think about it in, in Tic-Tacs.” The air smells like rained out coffee grounds. It’s definitely Tweek _._

“ _Mm_ ," Craig agrees. "It's almost a graphic novel. Damn," Craig furrows his eyebrows. "Doesn’t seem like I was worth seventeen bucks. I was a lousy partner.”

“Lousy?” Tweek questions, fiddling with a bandaid on his finger. "Nah." The box said glow in the dark, but Tweek feels like it was false advertising. They only work if Tweek squints and imagines them a bright light.

“Okay,” Craig says, suddenly. “So what?” Tweek squints.

“What do you mean ' _so what?_ '"

“I," Craig begins. "It's early," He groans quietly. "And I don’t understand why you’re talking about this right now. So what. It's self-explanatory.” Tweek groans, 'cause his best friend and pretty much lifetime love can be such an annoying asshat.

"Just, just go back to sleep." Tweek says, almost defeated sounding, so Craig sticks his middle finger up.

“There’s _my_ fucking finger for you.”

" _Ngh_ , rude." Craig glares with every inch of passion he has left inside of him. His pulse shouts up his throat: _why do you do this to yourself_   _why must you be this unhealthy_. Tweek's got the sun pooling behind him, though, and the rain's bringing in a cool breeze. If Craig keeps staring, and Tweek keeps staring, that breeze won't stop, and Craig's not sure there's a road back for for his lungs. "Did you get enough, _ngh_ , footage?" Tweek whispers. Craig's not sure why he's whispering, but the sound knocks the back of his head funny, and soothes his scalp. "Craig?"

"Mm?"

"You sound tired." Tweek considers. Craig scoffs.

"Wow. No shit," Craig rolls over on his side. He looks at Tweek's hand instead of his face. There’s a bandaid on his pinky that's almost glowing. Craig watches as Tweek now holds up three fingers pointedly. Index, middle, and ring. "Christ, _this_ again." Craig closes his eyes, but Tweek's fingers are still imprinted in his memory, illuminated by a glow-in-the-dark bandaid and the sun hiding through clouds behind him.

"So, I love y-you." Tweek blurts speedily. He knows the words are stupidly fast and could possibly be just as damaging as fallout. So Tweek bites his thumb until he could use another bandaid, and his mouth tastes like metal.

There.  _So_ much better.

"Are you,” Craig begins slowly, and Tweek thinks, _shit, this is it, this is finally it, eight fucking years to this, to whatever Craig says and then he’ll know, and---_  “Seriously doing homework?" Tweek blinks rapidly.

Really. 

" _Ngh_ , what?"

"Solve for _u_. Why are you solving for _u_ at this hour?” Craig practically whines, lowly and he pulls a blanket over his head, rolling over. “Just go to sleep."

" _Ngh_ , I'm not, no. No. Wait, what?" Tweek stammers.

"Tweek, there's a book on my nightstand. It's about," Craig sticks his hand out from under the blanket. He scrunches his fingers until the space between his thumb and pointer measure roughly two inches. " _This_ thick. Open it. There, you will find words and sentence structures. They are put in one place for your benefit."

"Oh, you, y-you _idiot,_ " Tweek shakes his head at Craig, and sighs. He paces for anxiously for a second, and Craig blearily blinks at him. The floorboards moan. Tweek dramatically pinches two fingers together, mimicking Craig's sign. " _You're_ about  _this_ thick, man! This thick!" 

"Chill out, Tweek. I'll help you solve your problem tomorrow. Just..." Craig waves his hand around vaguely. "Chill." 

" _You're_ my problem." Tweek says desperately. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Craig frowns.

"How," Tweek begins slowly. He closes his eyes and breathes a few seconds. Craig watches and counts the inhales as they come.  _One. Two_.  _Three. Four. Five_. Tweek opens his eyes. "Craig," Tweek says, like he's talking someone down from a cliff. " _How_ are you not getting it?"

"Don't be so cryptic." Craig squints. Like, _what_ is Craig supposed to get? Whatever it is, it won't happen tonight, this morning, _what the hell ever_ time it is. Craig doesn't get a lot of things right about now. He's too groggy to get  why Tweek's acting so weird, or why it's almost seven in the morning and he's had two hours of sleep, why pluto's so far away, why the kitchen  _still smells like garlic,_ because  _seriously_ , they've been out of garlic for a solid two months now. That's just not normal.

"I'm not cryptic," Tweek scoffs. "You're fucking clueless, man! How many more times do I have to, to get it through your thick fucking skull---" Craig frowns, taking some offense. 

"I have a 3.8 GPA." Craig protests, with the fervor of a snail. "I am smart." Craig says, dryly, and Tweek lets out a laugh. 

"J-jesus," Tweek sighs. He counts his breath and shakes his head. "You kill me."

"Well," _Ya_ or _you_ , _ya_ or _you,_ Tweek repeats, wondering as Craig yawns. "Your funeral will be a spectacle. Divine as Ru. I'll make sure everyone's there," Craig deadpans, closing his eyes and pulling the blanket in on himself. "I'll even get an Elvis impersonator to sing _Candle in the Wind_. Big daffodils, too. Or maybe," Craig drones on sleepily to his pillow. Tweek would so be that pillow. "The Elvis impersonator will be dressed as a big daffodil. It's undecided. You want a knight to say ni?"

"I don't like daffodils." 

"So, what _do_ you want?" _You, fool._  

"I like day lilies," Tweek says instead, because that's not a lie. "They taste like melons." 

"Do you want people to eat flowers at your funeral? Is that," Craig begins, hand on his face. "No joke?" 

"Sure, why not? Cycle of  _life_ , man. J-just think, I'll be one of those flowers some day, you know?" 

"Do I understand?" 

"No." Tweek blurts. 

"You want people to eat you at your funeral?"

"It's just life, dude."

"Weak." 

"No, man," Tweek groans. Maybe the crow really does mean death. Maybe Kenny was right. "It's, it's kinda beautiful, isn't it? If you think about it. I mean, I'll be dead, _yeah_ , but I sure did have a fun trip around, didn't I? And," Tweek sits crossed legged. He stares out the window. "Wouldn't it be kind of nice to know where I was going, and, and to take a little bit of me with you?" Tweek's voice is hopeful, like he's grabbing at a branch he can't reach, can't  _possibly_ reach, but he'll just keep stretching until he either grows wings or falls. 

It's a sight to see. Craig doesn't feel like he's got enough asshole in him to ruin that kind of hope. 

"Just don't go yet." Craig mutters. Tweek looks at Craig amused. He shrugs. 

"Don't have much control over it." 

"You're," Craig sighs, yawning loudly, slipping into sleep. "Hope you know," Craig's vocab is dying, and his words are beginning to slur. He's not that great at snapping back at Tweek. The crow caws, and _hey, chill, bud, he's slipping into unconsciousness._ Tweek _did_ technically confess. That should count for  _something._  "You're the only person I forgo sleep for." Tweek sighs, slightly defeated. 

"Goodnight, Craig."

" _Mrph._ " 

 


	6. vi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg i just wanted to tie this guy up so we can all move on. i so didn't know how to end this i'm sorry it felt strained but cheers, my bros, had to finish it somehow so thanks for sticking around with the 20,000+ word drabble XD THIS IS WAY TOO LONG
> 
> if anybody's got a request, shoot it at me! :3 i love the challenge and i'm kinda struggling with writing the way i have been?? also, any comments are appreciated and taken to heart, and i promise you won't hurt my feelings if you've got a suggestion for me. i've been working on a valentine's fic since july but i can't decide where to make it go. so suggestions totally help!
> 
> thanks, dudes, catch you on the flip. <3

5:28.

 _5:28._ Craig rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He considers just _staying_ in bed because the sky's a basement, and that's close enough to night, isn't it? 

There's some jazz muffled through the bedroom door, and the light streaming in through the cracks is almost like morning.

Except it's not. Jesus, why'd he have to stay up so late? Craig rubs his face and yawns. He grabs his toothpaste out of his bookend, slings his toothbrush in his mouth so it hangs out like a limp cigarette. Craig eyes the window, a cobalt cold that makes him glad to be inside.  

The sky's far too dark. The kitchen is raising something warm, and Craig's stomach snarls. Smooth piano curls in the air. Craig sits up in bed, as B7 sways G around an upbeat drum. Craig stretches and steps his toe on the hardwood floor. Craig snags his camcorder from its charger and shoves it in his sweatshirt pocket. He makes his way to the kitchen, squinting through the light. He pulls the switch on a toy train lamp, flicking it off. Tweek's in the kitchen, back to him, tapping his foot, counting change on the counter that's covered with flour and god knows what. 

"Holy shit, Tweek." Craig says, brushing his teeth lazily. 

It's like a cyclone hit. Craig sighs, shaking his head, and walks past the kitchen, making his way to the little bathroom. Tweek doesn't turn around, and Craig figures Tweek doesn't know he's up. The damn jazz is way too loud. Craig spits into the sink and runs water over his face. 

"Aw, fuck!" Tweek half-shouts.

"You good?" Craig asks, ambling out of the bathroom, pretty used to Tweek's randomly shouted expletives. He knows Tweek's not in _real_ trouble anyway, when he gets out to the kitchen. Tweek's holding a penny up to the light, stretching on his tippy-toes and he looks like he's about to fall in the oven. He turns to look at Craig, slightly startled. Craig feels for his camera, and flicks it on in his pocket. It hums under his fingers. 

Billie Holiday's humming, too, except she's much louder. 

"Aw, fuck," Tweek mutters again, wavering a bit in his stance. "Round two?" Tweek questions, shifting the penny in the light.

"No," Craig says carefully, with a curious look on his face. "Why did you just-"

"I can't hear you," Tweek mouths over the trumpets and Billie Holiday's croon. Craig rolls his eyes. He walks over to the little radio sitting on the kitchen counter. You wouldn't think something so small could make this much noise. He turns it down. "My mood!" Tweek nearly wails as the jazz mellows. Craig blinks. His heart thumps, and yep, Craig can't sleep off loving the weirdo. 

"Tweek. What."

"I don't know. You came out here." Craig rolls his eyes. He shifts his gaze towards Tweek, who's readjusting himself against the counter with a bunch of copper coins behind him. He hops up on it.

"What're you doing?" Craig asks, pulling the camera out, hitting record. Tweek flicks his eyes towards Craig suspiciously, but says nothing about the thing.

"Looking for a lucky one." Tweek mumbles, slowly. 

"You can tell just by looking at it?"

"No," Tweek scoffs. He pushes himself off the counter and yanks the oven open. At this point, there's very little of Tweek that doesn't have flour on him, and even while Tweek's wearing those ridiculous green pajama pants, Craig has to remind himself to stop staring. "Gotta bake at the same time, too. Here," Tweek pulls a loaf of steaming bread out of the oven with an old pot holder. 

 _Oh_ , that was the smell. Craig's stomach pokes him. Tweek slings the potholder back in place, and it waves faintly while the oven door swings shut. Craig stares at the little thing. It was a gift from his grandmother. It's got an olive embroidered on it, and it says  _olive you_. Craig doesn't know why, and he probably wouldn't ever admit it, but that little pot holder reaches Craig's heart funny whenever he sees it. 

Tweek near it probably has something to do with the drums pulsing his ears, though.

"What are you actually doing with these?" Craig asks, panning his camera to the numerous pennies scattered across the counter, drowning in flour that's gone overboard, too. Craig takes a slow shot over them. He considers adding sound effects, and perhaps he will. Later. 

"It's a puzzle!" Tweek grins. " _You_ figure it out." Tweek tears off a chunk of this beautiful ciabatta, heat trailing up to the ceiling, and Craig's stomach growls. Damn. 

"I can't."

"Exercise your brain, man. It's so sick of looking at footage of me." 

"No, it's not," Craig mumbles, and it's more of an immediate rebuttal than Craig means. "I mean, this, right here. It's weird. It should be documented. You're a PBS special. What the fuck are you doing, Tweek? Can't you just tell me?" Craig asks, and he knows his face is reddening, but he's trying to ignore it. 

_Smooth cover, Tucker._

"Aw, now where's the fun in that?" Tweek complains. 

"Fun." Craig deadpans. 

"Yeah! Fun, you robot! I will give you a hint, man, though, I will," Tweek closes his eyes and excitedly dances on the balls of his toes. " _Gluten_." Tweek whispers like it's a big secret. 

"That is not a hint. That's barely anything."

"Barely barley." Tweek seems to agree, solemnly. Craig raises an eyebrow. "Alright, fine," Tweek gives in. "How about this? Wheat pennies. Get it? _Wheat_ pennies? Eh? Good, right?" _Oh, that pun-loving sonnuvagun._

"You weirdo." 

"Only 'cause you're labeling me weird," Craig blinks. "What's up with you, anyway?" Craig stares at the windowpanes, blinks at the failing sky. Winter's collecting on the sill. Craig rubs blearily at his eyes, glancing at Tweek. 

Short bastard is the reason he stayed up til seven and slept til five.  _What's up with you_ , like he doesn't know. 

"My brain is a bog today," Craig says, and then he catches the darkness outside. "Tonight. Whatever." 

"What's the weather like in there?" Tweek asks, curiously, and Craig feels himself come near smiling, but that'd be too much effort for this moment. Tweek looks contemplative, and Craig doesn't answer because the weather's unpredictable, and saying that sounds cheap. Craig plays with the zoom on his camera, pausing it to fiddle. Billie Holiday's softer now, and the fridge is humming along behind Craig. Seems like everyone's in on jazz. The camera flicks and Tweek teeters on his toes. They're dancing in mismatched socks, one with a frog on them and one with a toad. Totally different styles, different sizes even, and Craig's pretty sure toad's a kid's sock. It doesn't even reach his ankle, and toad's stretched wide in the face.

"You need new socks." Craig assesses. 

"They don't make adult ones," Craig raises an eyebrow. "Oh, don't look at me like, like that. Frog and toad, man, they don't make adult socks." 

"Gee, wonder why." 

"Hey, dude," Tweek croaks. "Do you," Tweek starts off pensively. "Do you think that frog and toad loved each other?" Craig raises an eyebrow. 

"I'm trying to forget high school. What makes you think I wanna remember third grade?"

"Because those were our best days, man," Tweek sighs. "No one gives us Crayolas for the hell of it anymore."

"If you didn't always melt them, maybe I'd get you some." Tweek frowns and eyes the ciabatta like he's gonna ask it a very stern question. Craig doesn't even bother wondering what that could be because it's probably something along the lines of,  _how come aliens never land in cotton fields or soy fields? or orchards or vineyards?_

Ahem. Craig _doesn't_ bother wondering. 

"What would you do if you, if you loved someone and they didn't believe you?" Shit, that's not a weird question about aliens or crows or death, that's a real question, and Craig chokes on air. 

_Breathe. Just don't ask who. Pretend you didn't swallow your tongue. Find your tongue - see, there it is._

"Why's it important they believe you?" Craig decides on. There. Innocuous enough. Tweek doesn't have super hearing. He can't feel the  _thump thump thump_ that's rushing in like a broken dam through Craig's ears.

Tweek doesn't love anyone like that, and well, if he does, it's just the love you got for a pal. 

Yeah.

Sure.  

"I don't know. I hadn't," Tweek frowns. "No, that's a lie, man," Craig dares a small glance at Tweek, who's staring up at the ceiling with a furious stain dusting his cheeks, and Craig can't even spot a goddamn freckle when he's that red. Craig looks away to the window because he'd love to escape from this conversation right now. He wonders how deep the snow is outside. Maybe it'd cushion him if he jumped. "I just, I really need them to know."

"You love them how?" Craig asks, after eyeing the back window for a solid few seconds, jaw clenched to the side in thought. Maybe Tweek's mentioned a couple crushes he's had, back in eighthgrade, _maybe_ , but nothing like  _love_. 

That shit's serious. Craig would know.

Craig would know, wouldn't he? 

"Like, like," Tweek frowns. "Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. That intense. I mean, wouldn't you tell someone? You would, wouldn't you? If you were Hughes, you'd tell your Plath, wouldn't you?" So it's not friend love. 

Rad. 

"Isn't that," Craig frowns. "Wait a minute. Didn't he burn all her letters?"

"Her journals after she died and man, you know what I, what I mean!" 

"Didn't he beat her? What the fuck, Tweek, why are they the first couple that springs to mind? What a bummer they are."

"Jesus, _I_ don't know, Craig! Maybe there's just something wrong with, with me." 

"And why am I Hughes? Think I'm more likely to," Craig makes a gun out of his pointer finger and thumb, sticks it to his head and mimes it going off. He clicks his tongue for effect. Tweek doesn't seem amused, but miming his suicide is the only survival technique Craig can hold onto lately. "First, you know." 

"That's not funny. You shouldn't, you shouldn't _do_ that, man. What if it came true?" Tweek frowns. Craig shrugs. 

"Then I'm dead." Tweek glares. 

"That's not funny, man." Tweek repeats.

"Am I laughing?" Craig asks, and Tweek bites his lip because in all fairness, Craig isn't laughing.

"What am _I_ supposed to, supposed to do if you do that?" Tweek utters so softly that he's sure Craig didn't hear it. 

"Buy me a pine coffin," Craig hums. He rocks on his heels but his body barely sways. "Or douse me in gasoline and send me up a river. I don't care. Do what you have to. I don't want any flowers at my funeral." Craig adds on an offbeat, hoping to lighten things up. 

It isn't working, and the ciabatta's getting colder. 

"Can I," Tweek begins carefully, and Craig doesn't get why he's being careful at all. It's not _that_ delicate. Just his funeral arrangements. "Could I bring flowers to your, to your grave?" Craig squints. 

"I guess. It's your money." 

"Well, I'd pick them. I'd get you wild flowers. They'd be free." 

"Sounds like you got this all figured out."

"I mean, _I_ don't want you to haunt me," Tweek speaks slowly, at a whisper in a voice that's searching. "Can't have you sticking around forever." 

"I'm prone to haunt if I receive flowers."

"That doesn't make sense." 

"I just don't see the point of flowers when I'm already a formaldehyde mannequin. Why are we adding to the death by picking flowers? Just seems counteractive to me, but hey. I'll be dead. What will I care?"

"What if I got you flowers now?"

"What," Craig begins, feeling his throat like a zipper that's stuck. "Would be the point of that?"

"'Cause," Tweek says, unblinking wild eyes. "Why do you have to have a point for everything? Can't things just be pointless?"  

"They're not, though. There's a reason and a reaction for it all, Tweek." 

"Okay, well, you figure it out, then," Tweek huffs, defeated. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm supposed to do." Tweek mutters, and it's not really panicked in the usual way he gets when he doesn't understand something. 

"Don't bring me tulips. I hate tulips." Craig offers helpfully.

"Well, wild tulips are so hard to get to anyway, dude! They're like, they're way up on mountain peaks! In Holland!" Tweek exclaims, dramatically. "And I'm not even talking about that anymore!"

Oh.

Oh. Right. 

Right, right, right. This. 

"Oh. Right." _Dammit, Craig._  Craig tucks the camera in his pocket and pulls on his hat strings. He lets gravity pull them down, maybe he'll get to the center of the earth if he believes in science enough. So, they're still talking about this. His face is glowing and his lungs are feeling way more, far more than they should be after he's just woken up. "Love's really a trap." Craig mumbles.

"What was that?" Tweek near whispers, plying at some of those copper coins. They clink like wind chimes together, in a lost October, one Craig feels he must've slept through. 

"I said it's," Craig sighs. "You've fallen in a trap if you think you're in love." 

"It doesn't feel like a trap. Shit, man," Tweek's voice soothes Craig like nothing else, even though it runs wattage from his spine to his collar bone, and nearly melts his hands. "That's pessimistic. And I don't just _think_ it. It's truth." Tweek licks his upper lip, and Craig's wonders some days how he got in this situation. He wonders how long he'll be stuck here. His mind wanders until he finds the place that rain lives, and he sits there for a while, pretending that he doesn't feel this way, that he's capable of staring his best friend in the face, hitching eyes and _christ_ , isn't that pathetic. 

"I don't know. Tell them." Craig says, curtly. He knows he has no reason to be curt about this. 

"That isn't working, Craig!"

"I find that hard to believe."

"They, they're like, like, _really_ darn clueless, okay?"

"Why don't you just ask them out? Think that's a pretty clear sign. Hard to miss." Craig suggests. That's the best line he can drudge up as 'helpful' advice with how he's feeling.

"That's the thing, dude. We've had this talk like, at least eight damn times, and, and he still doesn't get it. It's just going in circles!" 

"You like circles. Circle of life. Wheel of life. All that jazz."

" _Ngh_ , man, I'm, I'm getting sick of this. I don't wanna, don't wanna do this anymore." 

"Maybe there's nothing you can do. Sounds like he's an idiot, Tweek." Craig retorts because, _well,_ that's just fair sportsmanship.

"Naw, he's," Tweek starts eyeing Craig like something's hilarious. "He's a keeper. Sleeps too much, though, and, and he won't ever tell me jackshit about his dreams."

"Why do you care?"

"I dunno. Don't you care?"

"About this dumbass?" Craig grumbles, before he means it. He shoves his hands back in his pockets and feels like his gonna crush the palmcorder in his hand. Tweek gives Craig this funny look, steel ice eyes. "I haven't eaten." Craig says, like that excuses any way he's acted. "Ignore me." There.

Apology? _Kind_ of?

"Maybe he _is_ a dumbass," Tweek says, with furrowed brows. "I mean, I've told him eighty fucking times how I, how I love him. He fell asleep on me once, too, when I said it." Tweek complains, hopping up onto the counter. A couple pennies fall. "And, and I was totally wasted, man," Tweek licks his lip. "I'm pretty sure I almost macked the dude. Eighty times, and he still doesn't get it." Craig shifts, uncomfortably. He's not used to Tweek talking like this, and he's trained himself very hard to not think about Tweek macking on anyone.

"I thought you said eight." Craig incredulously observes, watching the pennies circle on the floor until they land melodically. 

"Eight, eighty, eight, _sure_. Eighty-eight, if you want, spaceboy."

"Well, now I don't believe you that you've said anything at all." 

"Craig," Tweek groans. "What should I do?" Tweek asks, swallowing air and that nagging pulse. 

"Well, how obvious," _Could you possibly be,_  Craig thinks as he flicks the zoom button so much he feels it's gonna pop off. He can barely finish any thought right now, and he's kind of regretting not staying in bed with the basement sky for company until Monday hit. "I've never heard you talk about anyone." Craig can't help but add on a mutter.

"How could you _not_?" Tweek whispers, almost maniacally and nearly to himself. 

"Tweek. I would remember." Craig says so very confidently that Tweek has to refrain from rolling his eyes.  

"Have you ever been in love?" Craig shifts on his feet. He squints. He rubs one eye. The question doesn't go away. Craig thinks maybe he should just go away. Tweek bites his lip. "Is that, is that too deep? Too heavy? Naw, yeah," Tweek nods to himself, when he can see that Craig obviously isn't going to respond, and why should he? "Too heavy." Tweek frowns. He grips the back of his neck, paces the pennies to the trashcan that needs to be emptied. "Just eat some bread, okay?" Tweek says, gesturing offhandedly to the bread as he concentrates on the floor. 

Craig doesn't feel like eating much, even though his stomach calls him a liar.  

“Sunshine. Butterflies. Lollipops," Craig deadpans, against his better judgement, as he watches Tweek tear off a piece of the bread. Tweek glares stiffly at him, and Craig feels somewhat compelled to be honest. He sighs. "Fine. Fuck," Craig hisses, and admits begrudgingly. "I have. My tongue's like lead. There," He glances at Tweek, who is appearing to solve a very complex math problem written on Craig’s face. "That's all you get." 

"What did you do about it?" Tweek asks, voice rumbling softly. Craig shrugs. 

"Shit, I never know," Craig admits, groaning. "Why are we talking about this?"

"I made bread," Craig says nothing to this, just narrows his because,  _the fuck._ "See, nothing else is, is engaging enough. You have nothing to say about my bread."

"It looks good." Craig offers, and then he realizes he really doesn't have anything else to say about the bread. 

"Past that, man! There's nothing else to talk about. We've covered bread and death, so I guess love's next." Tweek reasons.

"You goddamn hippie." Craig mutters. 

"So, you,  _ngh_ , you got lead lungs about someon---"

"Tongue. Lead tongue." 

"Oh," Tweek sighs. "My tongue is like, like the wind got ahold of it. A goddamn kite," Craig can't help but laugh a bit at the image of a kite tongue. Tweek smiles, too, easily. "It's all the time, even, even when he's just doing nothing, it's everything. You know? It's like, if I don't keep talking, nothing's gonna, nothing's gonna tell me it's _impossible._ "

"You've always talked a lot."

"Yeah, y-yeah," Tweek chokes on his throat. "As long as we've been friends, yeah." Tweek adds quickly. Craig's ears burn at that, but he shuffles it off. "I," Tweek begins slowly, shifting his elbows. "I gotta," Tweek grips his neck, points at the spine of it. "I gotta hold this part of my neck, too, or else I'm, I'm gonna say something stupid, or, or look stupid. Or fall." 

"I guess it doesn't work." Craig muses. Tweek narrows his eyes, gasping.

"Hey----"

"I've seen you do that, _this_ ," Craig puts his hands behind his neck and holds them there like Tweek does. "While you were falling," Craig points out. "I don't think it works, Tweek." He drops his hands. 

"So," Tweek clucks his tongue. "I look, I look, _ngh_ , ridiculous?" Craig shrugs.

"If it makes you feel better, they're my favorite shots," Tweek twists his face up, and then his shoulders just shift and sink in on himself. It's all a bit pitiful. Craig frowns, leaning against the fridge, sinking to the floor. He folds his arms and rests his chin on his knees. "Come on. No one's this clueless. Cheer up," Craig deadpans. "He can't be worth this much trouble." 

“You really have _no_ idea!" Tweek exclaims, suddenly and madly. His hand flails and knocks over a few more pennies. They clink and spin on the linoleum. One touches Craig's bare toe. Tweek pays them no mind.

"I think I have some----"

"No, you _don't._ I, I watched these _stupid_ videos, but they never talk about what to do if your best friend is also, you know, uh, like you," Craig swallows a little at that sentence. Tweek also pays this no mind. "I mean, you're so goddamn, _ngh_ , clueless! It's ridiculous! No one is like you, and I guess I love that, but I still, you know, I,” Tweek gestures to his toe flippantly. “I broke my toe on purpose." Craig squints.

"Why would you do that?" 

"I, I didn't think it would hurt so bad, and I, I didn't want to go to that dance, okay?" 

"But you ate toothpaste. You got out of the dance anyway. And that was in eighth grade. Why are you yelling about that now?" 

"Jesus Christ, Craig," Tweek hisses, frowning. "You know the bird, right?”  

“Bird?” Craig questions, confused. “This one?” Craig asks, raising his head slightly to flip Tweek off. Tweek hops down from the counter.

“ _No_ , that crow, right? Last night, by the field, that I met? Yeah. Or, well, I think it met me. I’m not so sure. It was, _ngh_ , back on the road? Way back by all those dead things, and we, we’re good, me and him, and he, he’s the one who----” Tweek stops himself. He grabs the back of his neck and lets out a rumbling groan. Tweek pauses, becomes way too still for the moment. 

"So," Craig looks a little helplessly towards Tweek, who's standing like he'd rather be walking. "I'm confused, buddy." Craig mutters. Tweek's clutching this uneaten piece of lukewarm bread in one hand, and it's crumbling to the floor. Craig could get a good shot of it, if he wanted to. He's got an interesting angle, from the ground of the messy kitchen, looking like it’s a Thursday night. 

But it’s not.

It’s _Sunday_.

“I, I, _jesus_ ,” Tweek hisses. “What _don’t_ you get? I flunked Bio ‘cause of you, and Algebra, too! Well, not Algebra _Two_ , ‘cause I wasn’t actually shitty at that. I mean, that was fine. The math was laying there, you know, but I could listen to it, get it? ‘Cause, I mean,” Tweek holds his hands to the back of his neck. Craig can feel him pacing under his toes, and some bits of flour, but not much else of the outside world is getting to Craig right now. “ _You_ weren't there, and, and it was just me and the numbers, and it w-was _way_ easier to concentrate. No one, no one else mattered at school, you know? Or anywhere, really. Outer space, even."

"You flunked Bio?" Tweek screws up his face, like he's just eaten something sour. "For me?" Craig swallows dry air.

Then, goddamn light hits Craig and he realizes that Tweek's nervous - jittery, flinching left eye, and glowing ember cheeks.

And it's because of  _him_. 

" _Over_ you, man, over you." Tweek whispers, and yeah, Craig could swoon. He'll be surprised if he doesn't, honestly. "Shit. Shit, I shouldn't have said that.” Tweek mutters, frowning. His shoulders cave inward. 

Jesus, Craig's glad he's sitting down. 

"I." Craig says, promptly shutting up. "So. You're saying." Craig begins again, and the room's breezing, moving even though he's only sitting, back to the refrigerator as she breathes. _In and out._  Craig swallows the air until his throat dries and he coughs. "You, you and I," Craig begins again. He blinks. Tweek waits patiently as he can, and he's used to waiting, because everything is hard for Craig to say. "We," Craig's eyes are full blown wide, and Tweek watches his chest heave in and out. "You, you're over me?" Tweek furrows his brows. Craig reddens in his cheeks, looking embarrassed and it's cute, but Tweek realizes that's not at all what Craig wanted to say, so he throws him a bone. 

"Jesus fuck no." Craig blinks his jade eyes up.

"You're, you're saying," Craig stutters, and Tweek almost laughs. "That you, uh, that you'd," Tweek waits, balances on his toes, slightly amused. "I'm your Plath?" Craig finally asks, swallowing, and _tick click clacking_ the little palmcorder in his pockets. Tweek brightens. 

_Finally._

" _I'm_ Plath," Tweek argues, and Craig nearly chokes on his own spit at that, but he just coughs a little, and then Tweek wonders if maybe he's made a mistake. "You're Hughes," Tweek adds, shakily. "I wouldn't burn your shit after you died, or, or hit you----"

"You did in third grade." 

"I," Tweek's face burns. "You stole the football, man, what was I supposed to do?" 

"Not hit me." 

" _Awh_ , why do have to, to _be_ an asshole, Craig? I'm trying to tell you I'm super gay for you, and you wanna nitpick?" 

"Super?" The ground's moving while Tweek's nodding frantically, and Craig feels like they’re fifteen again, and it’s been a shitty year, but Tweek’s made an army of snow angels to carry them to heaven. He’s lying in the snow, just a shadow lit by Craig’s kitchen light back home.

 _Home_ , that’s it. It was a mint green light, by the backdoor with screen that was split down the middle. Ruby swung a baseball bat in the basement, at a tennis ball that hit harder than the winter bit. Mom thought dad was nuts, and dad waterlogged the Jeep to the misty river, to prove how fine he was. Everything ended in ashes.

Everything except Tweek, who swore God’s army in melting snow would heal the something in Craig that seemed a little broke, _‘cause that’s what angels are supposed to do_.

It was cold that night, too, and the year still had a mean hook, but Tweek made it a warm memory.

The breeze could be blowing through that window this evening. Craig blinks, because he’s not fifteen, and he’s survived. He’s survived to have Tweek look at him like this, to fall off the border of _homo, what homo_ and end up in just flat out, undeniably homo and those grey smudged eyes are pleading _hey take a_ _l_ _ook into right up here spaceboy_

Goddamn, Tweek’s a hypnotizing sonnuvabitch.

“Craig?” Tweek asks, with this pointed edge to his voice. “You’re n-not, not saying anything. You could, _ngh_ , you don’t wanna say anything? It's cool, I mean, you don't have to.” They’re not fifteen, they’re not seventeen, and they’re not back by a mint green light, catching shadows in snow that collects like lawny pills over their winter clothes, over Tweek’s brilliant grin.

No. Craig knows that they’re in an apartment they share with the mice and each other. Craig knows this only because he can smell cold ciabatta and the refrigerator's purring like she's gonna break. 

And Tweek’s waiting. He’s waiting for Craig, of all people, to answer a question, and Craig can’t find his stupid tongue anymore. Tweek always seems to wait for him, Craig realizes somewhat dazedly.

“I. Um,” Craig stammers. “Super?” And this is the the best he’s got. _Awesome_.

“Y-yeah,” Tweek gulps miserably. “Super duper.”

“I thought it was just super.”

“ _Ngh_ , Craig, I don’t know, I don’t know,” Tweek sighs. “Sheesh, man, you’re making me forget everything." Tweek rubs at his face.

“So your joke wasn’t a joke?” Tweek scoffs, but doesn’t say anything. It lacks enthusiasm. “Um,” Craig coughs. He closes his eyes, but then he realizes that that’s not much better. “So, you're not actually a chicken.”

“Do I look like a chicken, man?”

“Christ no.”

"Alright."

"Super?" Craig asks again, because he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what his voice is good for, and he guesses he's never known, but his hands are still cold, and _holy hell_ why can't he click the stupid zoom anymore? And why is Tweek talking like this isn't a joke? He has to be joking, but he's not laughing.

Craig can't fathom why.

"Yeah, I said super, didn't I?"

"Super _duper._ ” Craig corrects, muttering, feeling like a major asshat after that. 

“Craig," Craig prepares for a lecture but it doesn't come. "Do you wanna, can I just,  _ngh_ , okay," Tweek moves close, close enough for Craig to worry about losing him. "Tell me if I'm wrong." Craig blinks up at Tweek carefully and the seconds pass as the refrigerator breathes.

Tweek looks scared shitless. He looks like that time they went to the hayride in Wilkes County back in eighth grade, and they were stuck in the muck by the stars with no cell reception and this guy who wouldn't stop telling them about all the ways you can slice a yam.

The guy was probably just trying to pass the time, but  _boy,_ did Craig think they were gonna end up a headline. 

Tweek looks  _that_ scared, and Craig knows why his pulse is kicking up, too. There's no cold autumn air in here. No wind wallowing, just old jazz in a kitchen warmed with bread. They're not chilly in hay, wondering if guinea pigs reincarnate, if  _you'd_ reincarnate, or if it's heaven, if you've been good enough to go to heaven, and then if Stripe II would make the cut to heaven, 'cause he was a devil of a piggy.

Some moments live in a breeze. The best words spread like wildflowers, and your bones feel alight in a beautiful field. Crows coo instead of scream, too, and toes never break. Toes don't even stub.

Tweek's not blinking and he's way too still. His left eye is flinching a bit, twitching in the eyebrow, and now he looks ready, determined - fuck if Craig knows, but it's a lot. 

"I'm not wrong." Tweek says, so very confidently Craig could swoon. 

Could. But he doesn't, because that's not culturally appropriate. Also, he's still on the floor, and it'd be pretty embarrassing to do that when he's already sitting. 

"Tweek, you're never wrong. You're a goddamn genius. You could've cleared up polio if you had been born a hundred years ago," Tweek stares before he laughs, then he cracks up like it's the funniest thing he's heard since his whole  _wheat penny_ situation. Craig's still trying to steady his pulse. "Pinch me."

"Isn't that," Tweek rubs his wrist, and his red cheeks get redder. He sinks to the floor next to Craig's side. His left knee jitters. "Moving kinda fast? I mean, we haven't even, _uh_ , you know, you won't even kiss me yet and now you want me to pinc---" 

"Christ, no. Not like that, Tweek," Craig groans, shoving his face into his hands. "I just wanted you to, you know, it's a saying, Tweek. Haven't you heard it? It's like, _pinch me, this isn't real_. That sort of thing. Shit, it was supposed to be," Craig frowns, sticking his face in his arms. "Romantic." He crushes the word out through his teeth. 

Craig twists his own arm, catches the skin by his elbow to be sure he’s awake. He rubs at the sleep that's still in his eyes. 

"Uh," Tweek laughs to himself. "You wanna be romantic?" Tweek suddenly asks. "So, this is coo----" Tweek interrupts himself by clearing the fourteen inch gap between the two of them, and Craig's first reaction is to do what he's best at: absolutely nothing. Tweek's hands are bitterly cold, but Craig's face is a furnace, and he can feel the bandaid that's supposed to glow in the dark against his cheekbone. 

Craig realizes that some moments, the words find a way to push out through your teeth and above all things that humans could ever understand. They make the nights and mornings endless. Some words know exactly what they mean, what you mean, and what they're doing. They know the hike it takes to meet your pulse.

This isn't one of those moments. The words are gone, and Craig's tongue feels like it's locked in under his braces.

Plus, Tweek's cherry-chapped lips are making sure Craig doesn't say anything, and Craig can't even  _do_ anything.

But there are no fireworks, that's the thing. Just the refrigerator cooing along to  _didn't he ramble_ on the tiny radio, and a nine year fever dream of Tweek's palms that's found out how to breathe.

Yeah, there's no fireworks, but if Craig didn't know how chemicals and biology functioned, he'd swear someone stuck eight hundred volts in him. 

"Oh," Tweek mutters, ghosts of a breath against Craig's face, pulling back. Craig's sure he looks dopey eyed. At this point, he's not even bothering to pretend he's cool and calm, because Tweek  _motherflipping_ Tweek seems to be into him, and Craig's pretty sure he's past swooning. There's something he's forgetting. Oh, right, inhale,  _exhale_. Do that. "Huh."

"What do you mean,  _huh_?" Craig asks, hoarsely. 

"I, I thought you'd taste like iron, you know, 'cause of those braces," Tweek whispers, and licks his upper lip. "But it's, it's, it's not. Not what I thought," Tweek says, humming, looking kind of amused and slightly delirious. Then he beats his wild eyes. "Fuckity fuck, I'm so gonna ruin this. _Ngh_ , can't you just stop my tongue from flying again, man?" Tweek asks, strained, fiddling with his hands and settling them on top of his head. 

When Craig does nothing, Tweek leans back against the fridge, hands tucked, staring at the floor. He's used to waiting, _sure_ , but usually his hands aren't shaking this bad, and nature isn't invading his personal life with crows from the outside. Tweek fingers the cuff of his sleeve and does a kind of half prayer that he can keep his tongue from going on, 'cause Craig really _hasn't_ said anything yet, and _oh shit_ _what if Craig can't handle this what if he can't handle any of this what if the feeling runs south and then Craig runs south and Tweek doesn't hear from him what if nobody hears from him what if he holes himself off in the woods like a big bear and he just spends his time wading in yesterday_

"I don't know how to do this." Craig admits like it's a secret he's been keeping for years. Tweek squints at him, _no shit, bro_. But then Craig's got his quiet smile going, the one with his dimples showing, and Tweek doesn't wanna see the light leave his eyes, so he just watches as Craig rests his head on his shoulder. Tweek swears a  _thank fuck_ on a sigh. 

"I, I don't either, but, but we could figure it out,  _ngh_ , to, together?" 

"You do," Craig corrects, sincerely and quietly. "You always," Craig reaches around. "Get it. You always know how things fit." Tweek hums thoughtfully. 

"We've fit for so long, Craig, and you're, you're, you're still my favorite month, man," Tweek shrugs simply, like that makes any sense, and he grasps Craig's hand. "I got you," Tweek says, twisting their hands together, and Craig's not sure he's going to get used to this. Craig's sure his heart's gonna pop. He glances up at Tweek. "You got me. To the moon and back, yeah?" 

"One of these days," Craig begins, carefully while listens to Tweek's shoulder as he breathes. "I'm going to know what to say." Tweek grins, toothy, brilliant. 

"Words are for drunks, and, and poets. And you know what those two have in common? Instabili----" 

"I'm sorry this is nine years late," Craig blurts suddenly, and presses his mouth to Tweek's cheek. "Also," Craig mumbles. "Sorry for interrupting you." Tweek blinks wildly, his eyes dancing, hands shaking. He grins. 

"No, no worries." Craig yawns, but he tries to hold it back. 

"You can't possibly be tired." Tweek says, but Craig just sinks his head deeper onto Tweek's shoulder, and Tweek pushes him to fall into his lap.  

"You're," Craig looks up, and then he realizes that Tweek's right. There are no words, so he simply beams up at Tweek, studies his face like he has done through a screen the past few years. "You're right." Craig decides.

Craig wishes he could’ve filmed this night, but a camera couldn’t capture the pulse. It couldn’t capture how Tweek’s toe feels curled into the floor, jittering under Craig's head. A camera couldn’t capture the break it took in eighth grade, and all the wasted breath Craig spent talking himself down from falling for Tweek. A camera wouldn’t be this exhausted. It wouldn’t feel bubbles in its throat, it wouldn’t repeat to itself that _everything’s changing, it’s all changing too wonderfully to be real_ , because it’s never the same for a camera.

To a camera, those minutes would just be that; minutes. A way to tell how much tape is left. 

It’s been twelve years, but Craig can’t remember that lifetime. He stares up at Tweek, catches his freckles fold, and decides twelve years is too long to fuck this up simply by loving the bastard. The camcorder snapped a few seconds here and there, caught a few memories, but Craig realizes it could never, no matter how hard he deluded himself some lonely nights, be anything like this, right now.

Right now, all Craig can think about is that he doesn’t need to quiet his own breathing to hear Tweek; he can feel it above him, along with Tweek’s rain-dampened hair, his flour palms. He smells like bark and morning dew, myrrh, too, and a storm that’s cooling.

Craig isn’t so sure he believes in fate or destiny. Hell, he doesn’t even buy into reality right now.

All Craig really knows is that he’s not a piano, but Tweek’s playing his arm like that’s what he is. They’re not twelve on the bus, or thirteen at a dance where Tweek doesn’t show. They’re not fifteen in a shitty year, soaking up the snow past ten at a school night. Craig’s not eighteen, he’s not puking tofu while Tweek slurs encouraging words, like _hey, you missed my shoes, good job_.

Craig’s definitely twenty three, and it took nine years, but he doesn't have to hide behind a camcorder worth less than fifteen bucks anymore. 

A crow caws. Tweek watches it flutter by the window, winds his fingers with Craig's, and the dull town lights yawn below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be kind to your crow friends.  
> <3


End file.
